UC-NRLF 


$B    274 


LIBRARY 

OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

GIFT  OK 


Received  ,  igo 

Accession  No.        83334   .    Class  No.     '       .' 


s» 


a 
^j* 


O 

u 

i 

o 

o 

(0 


O 

55 


o 


i 

o 
o 

o 

.- 


J 


A§ 
A* 

1? 

Kodaks 

i 

BY 

GUY  ALBY  BUELL 

Published  by  Record  Publishing  Co. 
Stockton,  California.     1900. 

COPYRIGHTED 

BY 

GUY    ALBY    BUELL 

1900 

A.LL     KIOJHTS     RESKK  VJE3) 


This  volume  is  respect 
fully  dedicated  to  the 
various  personalities 
whose  idiosyncrasies 
are  ever  an  inspiration, 
to  immortalize  them 
in  "verse  and  worse." 


83334 


MY  AMERICA. 


Grand,  all  so  grand,  my  America, 

Thy  fertile  valleys,  thy  rolling  plains, 

Teeming  with  wealth  and  happy  homes, 

Reaches  from  main  to  main. 

The  pilgrim,  battling  for  freedom's  right, 

Planted  his  banner  on  thy  rocky  strand. 

Bent  on  his  knee  and  thanked  his  God 

Who  guided  him  unto  this  glorious  land. 

Built  he  a  temple  in  the  forest  wild, 

Tilled  he  the  rich,  prolific  land, 

Fought  he  for  principle  and  right, 

Died  he  with  sword  clenched  in  his  rigid  hand. 

Then  torn  with  jealousies  of  self, 

This  nation  rocked  on  a  wave  of  civil  strife,' 

Upon  the  altar  of  fair  fame, 

Gave  up  its  youth  for  Freedom's  sacrifice. 

At  last,  this  inward  conflict  quelled, 

Hope,  with  its  guidon  held  on  high, 


KODAKS. 

Waved  forth  the  olive  branch  of  peace, 
And  pointed  to  a  haven  in  the  starry  sky. 
Though  hearts  were  sore  and  seemed  forsaken, 
They  strove  to  honor  our  old  flag; 
They  built  their  faith  upon  its  stars  and  stripes; 
Its  folds  in  infamy. they'll  never  drag. 
As  years  rolled  by  the  spirit  of  the  vanquished, 
Embittered  by  those  years  of  war  and  pain, 
Was  soothed  and  calmed  by  lapse  of  time, 
Though  pent  up    anguish    in    their    hearts    re 
mained. 

But  lo,  behold,  from  out  the  ocean  foam, 
Comes  call  so  plaintive  from  a  race  of  slaves, 
That  every  heart  bounds  with  a  fierce  resolve 
To  crush  the  life  from  domineering  knaves. 
From  North  to  South,  from  East  to  West, 
The  call  to  arms  is  answered  with  a  will; 
The  Blue  and  Gray,  shoulder  to  shoulder  stand, 
The  slave  to  save,  the  tyrant's  hand  to  still. 
Once  more  the  calm  of  peace  steals  o'er  our  land, 
United  in  our  hearts  we  stand  to-day. 
No  North,  no  South,  no  East,  no  West, 
All  with  one  flag  and  one  country. 
Grand,  all  so  grand,  my  America; 
From  ocean  to  ocean  you  stretch  your  arms, 
And  cluster  in  them  reunited  children, 
Shielding  them  from  all  harm. 


IDEALITY. 


Men  and  women,  each  and  all,  seek  happiness, 
and  their  ideality  paints  for  them  a  butterfly 
they  name  Pleasure.  Some  paint  it  in  a  gro 
tesque  combination  of  colors  and  turn  it  loose, 
then  try  to  catch  it  again,  but  they  forget  to  tie  a 
string  to  it  and  away  it  soars  out  of  their  reach. 
They  try  in  vain  to  paint  another  like  it.  but  can 
not  attain  the  proper  coloring,  and  finally  give 
it  up,  spending  their  allotment  of  years  in  en 
deavoring  to  capture  the  gay  butterfly  that  i> 
ever  just  out  of  reach.  There  are  others  who  paint 
their  moth  a  hue  that  matches  their  nature,  and 
its  colors  harmonize  with  their  circumstances. 
It  never  attempts  to  leave  them,  and  day  by  day 
they  enjoy  its  tints  and  draw  a  pleasure  from  its 
companionship  that  could  never  be  gleaned  were 
the  colors  brighter.  Each  and  every  day  they 
live  and  enjoy  life,  and  the  life  turned  from  the 


KODAKS. 

butterfly  comparison  into  facts  and  explained 
as  such,  means  that  an  ideal  of  happiness  should 
be  based  upon  the  means  and  advantages  within 
reach,  to  enjoy  them  to  their  uttermost  and  be 
contented  without  wasting  time  and  comfort 
building  castles  in  Spain  that  are  sure  to  tumble 
whenever  struck  by  the  light  of  reason. 


THE  GOLD  SEEKERS. 


Let  us  turn  back  a  page  of  time, 

And  endeavor  to  jot,  not  a  fancy  in  rhyme, 

But  some  facts  of  that  era  not  long  ago, 

When  gold  was  discovered,  and  all  too  slow 
Was  the  lagging  pace  of  an  emigrant  train 
Wending  its  way  o'er  the  trackless  plain, 

To  that  land  of  promise — the  Golden  West — 
.  For  the  precious  metal  all  were  in  quest. 
There's  many  a  grave  on  the  rolling  plain 
Holding  the  form  of  an  emigrant,  slain 

By   the   treacherous    redman — that   sneaking 
foe, 

Whose  shallow  soul  has  no  sense  of  woe. 
Hid  in  the  depths  of  the  billowy  main 
Are  friends  of  those  who  crossed  the  plain; 

Who  succumbed  to  the  heat  of  the  tropic  zone, 

And  in  coral  bed  found  their  last  long  home. 
Those  who  withstood  the  hardship  and  storm 


KODAKS. 

Of  a  voyage  around  rough  old  Cape  Horn, 
When  safely  within  the  Golden  Gate 
Shouted  for  joy,  and  with  spirits  elate, 
Shouldered  their  picks  and  pans  and  stores, 
And  hastened  away  from  the  ocean's  shores 
To  the  inland  rivers  and  mountain  streams, 
The  metal  of  commerce  from  them  to  glean. 
They  did  not  ask,  when  they  staked  a  claim, 
The  record  of  neighbors,  or  even  their  name, 
And  all  were  welcome  to  come  and  go — 
Provided  they  hoed  in  their  rightful  row. 
It  was  sorrow  for  man,  and  a  dismal  day 
If  by  chance  his  greed  should  lead  him  astray ; 
For  more  than  one,  in  slip-noosed  rope, 
Rued  the  day  he  left  for  the  Golden  Slope. 
There  was  always  a  bar  in  the  mining  camp, 
And  the  weary  miner  at  night  would  tramp 
Through  the  gravel  and  bush  to  squander  his 

dust, 

For  the  simple  reason  that  it  seemed  he  must. 
There  they  found  sports,  who,  with  games  of 

cards, 
Raked  in  the  dust  of  the  bearded  pards, 

Who  sought  their  own  store  of  wealth  to  in 
crease, 

And  did  not  suspect  the  gambler  would  fleece. 
The  tragedies  of  those  old-time  camps, 

10 


KODAKS. 

When  the  bad  man  shot  out  the  flickering  lamps, 
If  recorded  and  shown  on  the  stage  in  play, 
Would  last  the  world  forever  and  a  day. 
There  were  deeds  of  honor  in  those  olden  days, 
Though  shown  in  a  miner's  uncouth  ways, 
And  many  the  lesson  they  taught  to  men 
In  those  weird,  low-ceiling  gambling  dens, 
When  they  sought  the  part  of  ruffian  to  play, 
For  on  sunny  hillside  they  were  laid  away, 
To  sleep  until  Gabriel  blows  his  horn 
On  that  far-off  resurrection  morn. 
Bret  Harte,  in  his  "Luck  of  Roaring  Camp," 
Tells  how  the  gambler  was  made  to  tramp, 

How  the  snows  of  the  Sierras  covered  his  face, 
While  his  epitaph,  written  upon  an  ace, 
Was  pinned  to  the  bark  of  a  mountain  pine 
By  a  dagger,  driven  between  the  lines. 

This  shows,  perhaps,  the  worst  of  the  life — 
The  gambling  rough  with  his  Bowie  knife; 
For  the  delvers  in  depths  of  mountain  ravine 
Felt  over  them  glide  the  shimmering  sheen 

Of  the  pleasure,  they'd  give  to  far-away  folk; 
How  they'd  lift  from  their  neck  cold  poverty's 

yoke ; 

Ho\v  for  sorrows  of  the  past  they'd  fully  atone, 
For  man  can  never  find  pleasure  alone. 
Many  a  year  has  come  and  gone 


KODAKS. 

Since  the  caverns  of  gold  were  made  to  yawn, 
To    yield    to    the    mortals,   who,    turning  the 

streams, 

Found  wealth  far  beyond  their  wildest  dreams. 
Now  where  once  they  flocked  with  rocker  and 

pick, 

Is  heard  the  stamp  mills,  clickety  click, 
Grinding  the  quartz  from  a  deepening  mine 
Into  atoms  of  dust  like  a  powder  fine  ; 

For  massive  machinery  has  taken  the  place 
And  distanced  the  miner  of  old  in  the  race 
For  wealth  and  power,  excepting  the  few 
Who  care  not  for  tricks  that  are    modern    and 

new, 

Because  the  strike  was  never  made, 
Yet  they  struggle  along,  and  are  never  afraid 
But  that  some  time  they'll  strike  it  rich 
In  some  nook  or  cranny  of  abandoned  ditch. 
You  can  find  these  hermits  at  any  time, 
Living  in  huts  near  an  old-time  mine  ; 
And  though  age  has  silvered  their  locks  with 


They  prospect  the  canyon  every  day, 

And  reflect  at  night  what  a  wonderful  scope 
Has  man  who  lives  on  the  Golden  Slope. 

Who  knows  what  a  pocket  those  old  boys  have 
struck, 


12 


KODAKS. 

When  you  figure  the  ins  and  outs  of  hick? 
For  they've  picked  out  their  life  in  a  simple 

way; 
Have  panned  when  the  sun  shone  bright  and 

gay; 
Have  rocked  when  the  earth  was    cradled    by 

night, 
Until  time  has  shoveled  them  out  of  sight. 


FAT  JACK  AND  SLIM  JIM. 


There  is  a  little  drama  that  was  written  long 
ago,  not  by  Shakespeare,  but  by  an  ordinary 
mortal.  This  drama  is  known  as  "Fat  Jack  and 
Slim  Jim,"  and  my  reason  in  calling  attention  to 
it  is,  that  almost  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night 
you  can  see  it  being  played  on  our  streets.  Fat 
Jack  and  Slim  Jim  were  boys  together,  grew 
up  together,  but  did  not  broaden  out  together. 
That  qualification  was  reserved  for  Jack,  while 
the  slim  portion  of  the  programme  was  well 
taken  care  of  by  Jim.  Fat  Jack  prospered,  be 
came  wealthy  and  powerful,  while  Slim  Jim 
retrograded  in  like  ratio.  Fat  Jack  cared  not 
for  the  friend  of  his  boyhood,  and  treacherous 
memory  compelled  him  to  ignore  Slim  Jim 
whenever  that  unfortunate  specimen  of  rags 
and  tatters  came  within  range  of  his  vision.  He 
would  see  him,  but  mentally  would  resolve  not  to 
recognize  him,  unless  compelled  to  do  so. 

14 


KODAKS. 

Not  so  with  Slim  Jim.  He  never  failed  to 
grasp  the  opportunity  to  make  himself  known  to 
his  old  chum,  and  would  elbow  his  way  through 
a  crowd  of  fashionables,  slap  him  on  the  shoul 
der  with  a  hearty,  "God  bless  you,  old  fellow; 
how  are  you?" 

"I  guess  you  are  mistaken,  sir;  I  don't  know 
you." 

"What!  Don't  know  me?  Why,  I'm  Slim 
Jim.  We  used  to  play  hookey  together  and 
howled  in  unison  when  punished.  Don't  you 
recollect  now?" 

"No,  I  don't;  but  here's  a  dollar  for  your  re 
markable  imagination." 

"That's  a  poor  offering,  but  I'll  see  you  again, 
Fat  Jack." 

If  you  are  observing  and  should  follow  Fat 
Jack  as  he  meanders  down  the  street  you  will 
surely  see  his  Slim  Jim. 


WARRANTED  TO  SOOTHE  A  DISCIPLE  OF 
BLACKSTONE. 


He's  gone  the  way  of  all  the  flesh 
That's  heir  to  earthly  ills, 

But  ere  he  left  this  vale  of  tears 
He  penned  a  few  last  wills — 

Telling  to  whom  he'd  leave  his  cash- 
How  large  or  small  the  share — 

To  be  enjoyed  by  those  he  loved — 
The  wills  were  signed  James  Fair. 

Some  folks  conversant  with  his  past 
Have  raised  a  wish  on  high 

That  Jim  is  perched  upon  a  cloud 
Where  he  can  see  and  sigh — 

Sigh  for  the  time  when  in  his  prime, 
Midst  mines  and  silver  mill, 

16 


KODAKS. 

He  squelched  the  hopes  of  any  man  ' 
Who  dared  oppose  his  will. 

See,  with  an  eye  undimmed  by  tears, 

What  he  feared  when  ending  life's  journey — 

A  bustle  and  tussle  of  jaw-bone  muscle 
By  many  a  well-bred  attorney. 

But  their  wishes  are  said  to  be  in  vain, 

As  he  neither  sees  nor  sighs, 
And  none  of  his  treasure  ever  went 

For  a  mansion  in  the  skies. 

Yet  down  below  where  Satan  stores 

His  imps  and  keeps  the  cases, 
Old  Jim  is  getting  a  corner  on  fire, 

And  reckons  he  holds  four  aces. 

He  knows  the  time  will  surely  come 
For  the  so-called  souls  to  sever, 

From  the  bodies  of  those  who  broke  his  will- 
To  be  doomed  to  hell  forever. 

And  when  they  reach  the  bottomless  pit, 
Their  fate  will  be  worse  than  a  sawyer's, 

For  the  devil  has  promised  to  let  him  grill 
Every    one    of    those    will-breaking    lawyers. 

n 


HEREDITARY  TASTE. 


The  average  individual  has  about  as  much 
conception  of  the  length,  breadth,  possibilities, 
impossibilities  and  habits  of  the  United  States 
as  a  nation  as  a  South  Sea  cannibal  has  of  ,a 
pink  tea.  Desiring,  like  all  who  possess  the 
freedom  of  speech,  the  pleasure  of  using  it,  they 
do  so  sometimes — to  the  same  ilk  and  again  to 
the  emptiness  of  self.  It  has  the  effect  of  spoil 
ing  the  taste  of  their  bread  and  butter,  hardening 
the  couch  on  which  they  seek  repose,  of  poison 
ing  the  minds  of  their  offspring,  who,  having  the 
hereditary  taint  of  taste,  follow  the  paternal 
footsteps  to  the  carrion,  where,  buried  to  their 
eyes,  their  nose  fails  to  scent  the  breeze  of 
knowledge  and  comfort  blown  from  the  field  of 
cheerfulness  that  makes  life  worth  living,  for  the 
sake  of  others  as  well  as  self. 


18 


RECRIMINATION. 


The  facility  with  which  some  ministers  con 
demn  believers  in  other  creeds  to  the  shades  of 
everlasting  darkness  can  only  be  equalled  by  the 
condemned  retaliating  in  like  manner.  They're 
a  good  deal  like  two  boys  walking  toward  each 
other  on  the  top  of  a  picket  fence — neither  one 
will  get  off,  and  as  a  consequence  in  the  scrim 
mage  that  ensues,  they  fall  to  terra  firma  and 
both  escape  without  accident.  The  difference 
between  the  minister  and  the  boys  is  that  the 
boys  stay  on  the  broad  foundation  while  the 
divines  climb  back  on  the  fence  and  keep  up  an 
argument  about  the  loophole  of  Heaven  in 
scribed  with  their  creed,  hinged  with  their 
faith  and  unlocked  only  when  the  applicant  for  a 
harp  and  crown  has  been  bapsoused  in  the  man 
ner  prescribed  by  the  framers  of  their  constitu 
tion  and  bv-laws. 


THE  TREND  OF  WEALTH. 

I  dreamed  I  had  ten  million  dollars — 
Great  Caesar's  ghost!    What  fun  I  had, 

When  with  that  boodle  in  a  sack, 

I  joined  the  rich  and  grew  quite  bad. 

'Ten  million  dollars;  now  be  careful," 
Was  thought  forever  in  my  head, 

"Or  soon  you'll  be  a  lonely  pauper, 
And  lying  with  the  potter's  dead." 

How  quick  I  caught  the  canting  words 
That  emanate  from  tongues  of  rich, 

Who  take  a  road  and  both  its  sides, 
And  shove  the  workman  in  a  ditch. 

"Ten  million  dollars!  There's  a  man 

Who's  going  to  strike  me  for  four  bits; 
I  wonder  if  he'll  take  a  dime, 

Or  else  a  nickel,  and  call  it  quits?" 
20 


KODAKS. 

Thus  was  I  fretted — day  in,  day  out — 
For  fear  I'd  lose  that  precious  wealth; 

To  keep  it  hid  was  constant  care, 

And  called  for  many  tricks  of  stealth. 

One  day  a  caller  came  and  said: 
"Here,  Millions;  I  have  use  for  you." 
I  went,  and  with  him  passed  the  gate 
To  where  the  devil  claims  his  due. 

Then  Satan  reached  a  skinny  hand, 
And  said :  "Old  boy,  I'll  take  a  check 

For  every  cent  of  wealth  you  have, 
And  then  I'll  wring  your  stingy  neck." 

I  called  to  God  to  save  my  wealth, 
And  keep  me  from  the  devil's  yoke ; 

But  Satan  kicked  me  in  the  pit 
And  shocked  me  so,  that  I  awoke 

To  find  myself  the  same  as  ever, 

But  full  of  strong  and  fierce  resolve 

To  never  hanker  to  be  rich, 

Or  problem  of  the  wealthy  solve. 


CALIFORNIA  DIALECT. 


Californians  are  very  fond  of  expatiating  on 
the  dialects  of  New  Englanders  and  Southern 
ers,  and  derive  considerable  amusement  from 
imitating  the  usual  twang  of  one  and  the  lisp  and 
roll  of  the  other.  Of  course,  it  has  never  oc 
curred  to  them  that  the  inhabitants  of  this  gilded 
dome  of  the  United  States  are  unconsciously 
forming  a  dialect  that  promises  to  be  as  lasting 
as  that  of  their  Eastern  and  Southern  brethern. 
Listen  to  any  group  of  people  conversing, 
whether  they  be  educated  or  otherwise,  and  no 
tice  the  frequency  of  that  abomination,  "ain't." 
Also  observe  the  number  of  words  ending  with 
"ing"  in  which  the  "g"  is  not  sounded  at  all. 
Take  note  of  the  word  "them"  and  see  if  in  the 
majority  of  cases  it  is  not  pronounced  "  'em." 
There  are  others,  but  these  are  the  most  flagrant 
offenses  and  are  absurd  and  entirely  uncalled 

22 


KODAKS. 

for.  The  habit  is  very  likely  caused  by  the 
average  Californian's  lack  of  time,  or  rather 
supposed  lack  of  time,  as  the  expenditure  of  the 
required  amount  of  breath,  the  exertion  of  the 
tongue  and  the  fraction  of  a  second  consumed 
are  the  same  in  either  case,  so  there  is  no  excuse 
whatever  for  the  vulgarities  of  speech  men 
tioned. 


AN  ABUSED  PROFESSIONAL. 

The  banker,  when  counting  his  bright  shekels 
o'er, 

And  figuring  out  whom  he  will  pay, 
Thinks  the  doctor  who  cured  his  cold  last  fall 

Doesn't  need  any  money  to-day. 

The  merchant,  when  taking  account  of  his  stock, 

And  asking  extensions  of  time, 
Counts  the  doctor  as  one    who    will    willingly 
wait — 

His  asking  for  money's  a  crime. 

The  mechanic,  who's  working  just  half  of    the 
time, 

Pays  the  butcher,  the  baker  and  rent; 
The  doctor,  of  course,  has  no  use  for  coin; 

So  he  doesn't  pay  him  a  cent. 

24 


KODAKS 


The  farmer,  who's  holding  his  last  year's  crop 
In  vain  hope  that  the  price  will  raise. 

Borrows  money  to  pay  various  mercantile  dues, 
While  his  doctor  gets  nothing  but  praise. 


This  concert  of  action  in  dodging  M.  D.'s, 

When  settling  the  old  and  new  bills, 
Is  claimed  by  the  doctors  to  be  bad  taste — 

Even  worse  than  a  dose  of  their  pills. 
Still  they  dose  and  slash  and  cheerfully  heed 

Every  sickly  and  maimed  mortal's  cry ; 
For,  as  one  of  them  said,  "I  might  as  well  live 

It  is  much  too  expensive  to  die." 


HANKERING. 


I  have  just  been  engaged  in  the  very  dry  work 
of  compiling  statistics,  and  have  almost  come  to 
believe  as  the  man  did  who  said  there  were  three 
kinds  of  lies — "lies,  d —  lies  and  statistics."  Not 
willing  to  fully  accept  the  statement  until  I  had 
the  present  task  completed,  I  laid  it  aside  and 
meditated  on  the  humorist's  remark  that  "a 
young  man  starts  out  to  carve  a  herculean  statue 
of  marble  that  will  endure  forever  as  a  monu 
ment  to  his  genius,  and  when  he  reaches  the  age 
of  35  concludes  to  put  a  tail  on  it  and  call  it  a 
dog,"  or,  as  another  one  puts  it,  "the  boy  gathers 
materials  for  a  temple  and  when  he  is  30  con 
cludes  to  build  a  woodshed." 

Verily,  I  fear  there  is  much  of  truth  in  the 
sayings,  but  what  becomes  of  all  the  dreams  and 
hopes  and  efforts  that  are  put  forth  by  those 
who,  in  the  vigor  of  young  sturdy  manhood, 

26 


KODAKS. 

with  intellect  to  match  their  brawn,  start  out 
with  the  firm  determination  of  capturing  a  zone 
and  come  home  with  a  woodchuck?  Are  they 
really  and  truly  satisfied  with  the  woodchuck? 
They  are.  Why?  \Yhy,  because  a  zone  is  a 
wary  bird  and  must  be  followed  from  early  morn 
till  dewy  eve.  Through  the  stilly  hours  of  night, 
while  nature  sleeps  and  man  carouses,  the  zone 
must  be  watched.  From  month  to  month  and 
from  year  to  year  the  elusive  creature  must  be 
followed  with  the  determination  of  a  bloodhound. 
Xo  switching  off  the  pathway  to  chat  with 
maiden  fair ;  no  resting  at  the  wayside  inn  to 
partake  of  the  cup  that  cheers  ;  no  listening  to  the 
idle  prattle  of  your  kind,  for  if  you  do,  your  zone 
is  a  gone  gosling  as  far  as  you  are  concerned, 
and  you  will  probably  drop  the  chase  when  the 
zone  is  just  about  tired  out,  and  a  fr£?h  hunter 
will  capture  the  prize  and  leave  you  forever  wish 
ing  you  had  kept  on  a  little  longer. 

Supposing  you  had  kept  on,  been  in  at  the 
death  and  secured  the  brush,  you  would  be  like 
Jemima,  who  cooks  a  dinner  that  any  mortal 
sinner  would  walk  ten  miles  barefooted  to  par 
take  of,  and  she,  poor  Jemima,  can't  bear  the 
sight  of  it.  She  had  "more  as  plenty"  while  do* 
ing  the  cooking. 


KODAKS. 

With  all  this  prologue  I  haven't  got  an  inch 
nearer  the  actual  why  of  the  case,  but  it  must  be 
that  when  the  young  man  starts  out  in  the  world 
on  his  self-appointed  task  of  anchoring  a  zone  in 
some  Eden-like  vale  and  there  sipping  the 
honey  of  life  for  an  indefinite  period,  that  his 
hankerings  and  passions  and  fancies  are  strung 
out  from  him  like  the  tendrils  of  a  fragile  vine. 
Each  and  every  hankering  has  a  tendril,  and  as 
he  goes  tearing  along  through  the  rugged  un 
derbrush  of  experience,  they  are,  one  by  one, 
torn  away  until  but  one  remains.  Sometimes 
this  is  the  zone  hankering,  sometimes  it  is  the 
gold  hankering,  sometimes  it  is  the  fame  hanker 
ing,  but  oftener  than  all  it  is  the  woodchuck 
hankering,  and,  as  the  other  tendrils  have  been 
torn  away,  this  one  has  reached  such  abnormal 
development  that  he  thinks  a  woodchuck  was 
what  he  started  after ;  finds  one,  bags  it  and  re 
turns  to  the  land  of  his  fathers,  supremely  con- 
ient  that  he  has  accomplished  his  mission. 


HE  WAS  NEVER  SATISFIED. 


From  four  to  eight,  like  other  boys, 
He  hankered  only  after  toys ; 

From  eight  to  twelve  he  longed  for  gore, 
And  read  dime  novels  by  the  score ; 
From  twelve  to  sixteen  he  disliked  home — 
O'er  the  wide  world  he  longed  to  roam ; 
From  sixteen  to  twenty  he  was  blind, 
For  girls  alone  were  on  his  mind  ; 
When  time  took  him  to  twenty-five 
He  found  he'd  have  to  work  to  thrive; 
At  thirty  he  began  to  think 
The  world  was  full  clear  to  the  brink 
Of  men  like  he.  who  sought  careers. 
And  earned  their  share  of  slights  and  jeers; 
At  thirty-five  he  thought  he  knew 
Of  politics  a  thing  or  two, 
But  when  his  party  was  empowered, 
They  skipped  him,  and  on  that  he  soured; 


KODAKS. 

When  forty  rolled  around  his  way 
He  found  his  hair  was  turning  gray, 
And  of  desire  he  had  one  aim — 
To  leave  a  pure,  unsullied  name; 
As  half  a  century  crossed  his  way, 
His  honor  seemed  to  go  astray; 
He  sought  the  thing  he  didn't  need — 
More  gold  to  satisfy  his  greed; 

When  three-score  greeted  him  one  day 
It  found  him  half  inclined  to  pray 
For  youth  and  comfort  of  the  time 
When  he  was  poor  and  health  was  prime ; 
At  seventy  he  grew  sick  and  died, 
But  just  before  his  death  he  cried : 
"Oh,  Lord,  take  all  my  earthly  wealth, 
And  give  me  one  more  year  of  health." 


THE  CIPHERS. 


"Pa,  what  is  a  man?" 

"My  son,  man  is  called  the  noblest  work  of 
God."' 

"Yes;  but  is  he?" 

"I  don't  know,  my  son.     Why?" 

"Well,  I  just  thought  if  he  was  that  God  must 
have  done  some  mighty  ornery  jobs  in  his  time. 
But  pa,  what  is  a  woman?" 

"A  woman,  my  son.  is  the  fairest  creature  in 
the  universe." 

"What's  a  universe?" 

"Oh,  an  immense  space." 

"Is  there  any  one  else  besides  women  in  the 
universe,  pa?" 

"Yes,  my  son;  but  they  don't  count." 


FIN  DE  SIECLE   MATRIMONY. 


Young  man  with  a  guileless  fancy, 
Takes  a  notion  to  Miss  Nancy; 
Escorts  her  on  all  occasions, 
Though  it  shortens  up  his  rations. 

Oft  he  smiles  on  the  fair  creature — 
This  of  courting  is  a  feature — 
And  for  her  he'll  bundles  carry — 
Previous  to  the  time  they  marry. 

He  experiences  many  a  spasm; 

Joking  friends  tell  him  he  has  'em; 
While  he  thinks  a  dismal  failure 
Are  the  efforts  of  his  tailor. 

Time  jogs  on,  Nancy — now  Mrs. — 
Oft  at  eve  her  hubby  misses ; 

He  goes  one  way,  she  another ; 

Least  of  all  they  like  each  other. 

32 


THE  SILURIAN'S  LAMENT. 


Am  I  dying,  Stockton,  dying? 

Wipe  the  green  scum  from  my  brow. 
Tell  me,  will  I  rest  with  Moses 

On  a  ledge  of  his  cloud  mow? 

I  was  born  with  heart  too  clammy ; 

Raised  too  selfish  to  discern ; 
Lived  too  long  with  pauper  virtues — 

I  refuse  to  die  and  burn. 

I  shall  last  till  wild  blasts  sounding 
From  the  mouth  of  Gabriel's  horn, 

Call  to  life  the  dead  of  ages 
On  the  resurrection  morn. 

Then  I'll  join  the  mouldy  spirits. 
Hurrying  on  with  bones  uncurried, 

For  I've  earned  the  right  and  title 
To  be  numbered  with  the  buried. 

33 


BEHIND  THE    MASK. 


No  amount  of  education  or  polish  can  eradi 
cate  naturally  bad  qualities.  They  may  be 
cleverly  disguised,  but  nevertheless  show  when 
opportunity  is  offered,  and  the  contrast  is  all  the 
more  striking  on  account  of  the  gloss  that  has 
oeen  liberally  rubbed  on  in  the  hope  of  making 
good  the  vile  nature  that  lies  underneath. 


;u 


SELFISHNESS. 


How  prone  mortals  are  to  complain.  It  is 
difficult  to  be  philosophical  at  all  times,  for  in 
the  majority  of  cases,  when  a  mistake  is  made, 
some  one  else  is  blamed  when  in  reality  self  is  at 
fault.  A  trinket  is  lost  and  the  loser  tries  to  rea 
son  out  why  his  luck  is  so  bad.  A  person  be 
comes  ill  and  curses  fate  for  the  misfortune.  A 
friend  or  relative  dies  and  loses  the  power  to  feel 
fleeting  joys  and  lasting  sorrows ;  they  are 
mourned  by  the  selfish  ones  left,  who  think  the 
Death  Angel  might  have  sought  elsewhere  for 
his  victim. 


POLITENESS. 


Politeness  is  a  trait  that  is  primarily  inherited 
and  secondarily  improved  by  cultivation.  It  is 
the  quality  that  compels  a  man  to  listen  and 
smile  approval  to  the  remarks  of  some  would- 
be  director  of  the  universe,  for  the  simple  reason 
of  having  him  go  away  with  a  proud  feeling  in 
his  heart  and  a  pleasant  taste  in  his  mouth,  for 
these  mouth  organs  take  as  much  pleasure  and 
satisfaction  in  chewing  over  words  as  a  cow 
does  in  chewing  her  cud  and  with  the  same  re 
sults,  as  the  benefit  can  be  of  no  use  to  anyone 
but  the  actual  participants. 


36 


ONE  THING  DONE  WELL 


In  youth  he  went  to  college, 
And  tried  to  take  his  part 

By  pouring  o'er  the  text  books. 
Til  he  knew  them  all  bv  heart. 


Twas  then  a  friend,  malicious, 

Said  the  knowledge  was  no  use, 
And  in  the  start  discouraged  him— 
He  believed  it,  like  a  goose. 

Then  he  turned  his  hand  to  labor 
And  almost  learned  a  trade, 

But  forsook  the  honest  calling 

For  remarks  that  had  been  made— 

To  the  effect  that  he  could  never— 
If  he  tried  for  fifty  years — 

37 


KODAKS: 

Learn  to  be  a  star  mechanic;- 
He  couldn't  stand  such  jeers.. 

He  tackled  sundry  other  things 
He  hoped  would  give  renown, 

But  seemed  to  have  a  penchant 
To  be  branded  as  a  clown.  • 

He  could  not  win  a  word  of  praise, 

No  matter  how  he  tried, 
And  finally,  weary  of  the  task, 

Gave  up  the  ghost  and  died. 

Saint  Peter  met  him  at  the  gate, 
With  his  usual  winning  smile, 

And  asked  him  what  he'd  done  to  earn 
A  pass  o'er  heaven's  stile. 

"Great  keeper  of  the  keys  and  seals," 

The  weary  pilgrim  cried, 
"I  never  did  but  one  good  thing, 

And  that  was,  when  I  died." 

The  pearly  gates  rolled  wide  apart, 

And,  as  he  passed  within, 
Saint  Peter  murmured,  sotto  voce,. 
'There's  many  more  like  him." 

38 


A  CELESTIAL  VIRTUE. 


The  "heathen  Chinese,"  who  is  a  long  way- 
from  being  overstocked  with  virtues,  has  one 
that  is  worthy  of  emulation  by  any  civilized  race 
under  the  sun.  When  his  New  Year's  day 
comes  around  he  does  not  swear  a  stack  of  ab 
stinence  swears  that  he  has  no  intention  of  keep 
ing,  but  he  does  pay  his  debts.  This  he  consid 
ers  a  religious  duty  and  would  no  more  think  of 
evading  them  than  he  would  of  stealing  the  roast 
pig  from  a  funeral  cortege.  Failure  to  pay 
would  ostracize  him  from  the -society  and  good 
will  of  his  countrymen.  They  would  consider 
him  too  common  to  be  slaughtered  in  an  alley 
by  a  highbinder,  and  his  presence  at  a  tan  lay 
out,  opium  joint  or  any  other  Celestial  pastime 
would  not  be  tolerated.  So  he  hedges  from  be 
ginning  to  end  of  the  year,  pays  all  claimants  and 
anything  that  remains  over  he  expends  in  Mon- 

sr- 


KODAKS. 

gol  dissipations,  such  as  gin  festivals,  domino 
wakes,  cat  pies  at  the  swell  restaurant  of  China 
town  until  he  feels  and  looks  like  an  animated 
joss.  When  his  fun  is  all  over  he  takes  up  the 
grubbing  hoe,  washboard  or  stewpan,  lottery 
ticket  or  highbinder  gas  pipe,  according  to  his 
vocation  in  life,  and  plods  through  the  year, 
dreaming  of  the  good  time  coming.  His  Meli- 
can  friend  emulates  his*  celebrating  tendencies, 
but  goes  him  one  better  and  in  place  of  meeting 
his  obligations  and  feasting  on  the  rest,  feasts 
on  all  of  it  and  lets  his  sad-hearted  creditors  do 
the  fasting. 


LES  MISERABLE*. 


Poets  for  ages  and  ages  have  sung 
Of  grief  and  kindred  woes, 

Until  their  weary,  faltering  tongues 
Stopped  wiggling  with  their  toes. 


They  will  tell  how  in  hour  of  direst  need 
They  yearn  for  Heaven  and  home, 

But  forget  to  mention  'tis  only  a  greed 
To  gnaw  somebody  else's  bone. 

To  lay  down  in  comfort  under  a  roof, 
Where  no  rude  hand  will  arouse, 

Because  the  world  now  stands  aloof 
And  no  wealth  is  left  to  carouse ; 

This  is  the  time  the  song  of  home 
Sinks  deep  in  the  wanderer's  heart, 

41 


KODAJKS. 

For  joy  and  pleasure  both  have  flown — 
Their  paths  have  drifted  apart. 

So,  weary  and  footsore,  draggled  by  fate, 
And  sinking  in  sands  of  time, 

He  turns  to  the  hands  that  lovingly  wait 
To  carry  him  over  the  line. 


HONOR  AND  DISHONOR. 


There's  a  river  of  life 
And  a  sewer  of  crime, 

That  flow  together 

Through  the  sands  of  time. 


There's  danger  in  stemming 

The  river  that  flows 
On  a  winding  course 

Through  the  vallev  of  woes. 


Through  the  meadow  of  pleasim 
It  simmers  and  gleams, 

Then  rages  with  fury 
In  the  rocky  ravines. 

Oftimes  a  frail  craft 

Is  wrecked  on  some  reef 

43 


KODAKS. 

Which  serves  as  a  warning 
Of  the  danger  beneath — 

To  those  who  by  wisdom 
And  hatred  of  strife 

Travel  safely  the  channel 
Of  the  river  of  life. 

To  those  who  should  fall 
In  the  sewer  of  crime 

Is  lost  all  the  hope 
Of  a  life  that's  sublime. 

For  the  reekings  of  murder 
And  robbery  and  lust 

Will  cling  to  a  mortal 

Till  he  crumbles  to  dust. 


B1ERGNG. 


Rumor  is  a  poor  source  of  information,  but 
occasionally  it  mixes  up  with  a  poor  subject, 
so  honors  are  equal;  but  it  will  have  to  stand 
sponsor  for  the  tale  that  Ambrose  Bierce  has 
repented  and  offered  atonement.  He  is  said  to 
have  realized  that  a  worm-eaten  spirit  is  a  heavy 
burden  and  that  his  own  has  grown  too  heavy 
to  carry.  Emotion  has  secured  such  a  hold  on 
his  imagination  that  he  has  pictured  himself  in 
hell,  with  no  power  of  locomotion  but  poetic 
feet,  nothing  to  eat  except  home-made  words, 
nothing  to  breathe  but  his  own  vaporings, 
nothing  to  see  but  McEwen  smoking  the  pipe  of 
peace,  and  nothing  to  hear  save  the  fancies  of 
James  Whitcomb  Riley.  Is  it  any  wonder  that 
he  has  voluntarily  offered  himself  on  the  altar 
of  sacrifice?  Xot  in  the  least,  and  the  Pasteur 
Institute  is  waiting  with  feverish  anxiety  for  the 

45 


KODAKS. 

time  to  come  when  they  will  parboil  and  refine 
him,  select  the  animal  fat  from  the  virus  and  be 
gin  a  system  of  interesting  experiments.  That 
they  will  make  a  success  no  one  can  doubt,  and 
in  later  years  Biercing  will  be  considered  a 
necessity,  and  when  a  child  shows  symptoms 
of  general  cantankerousness  the  family  physician 
will  promptly  vaccinate  him  with  Bierce  poison, 
force  the  varioloid  and  save  the  as  yet  unsullied 
innocent  from  a  life-long  attack  of  spleenmania. 


THE  MICROBE  OF  THE  SOUL 


I'd  heard  some  stories  of  an  oddish  man — 
A  recluse  from  the  world,  the  flesh  and  all- 

Who  could  dissect  a  human  being's  moods 
And  give  the  reason  of  their  rise  and  fall. 


I  sought  him.  and  with  plaint  for  knowledge, 
Gained   an   entrance   to  his    mood-observing 

den, 
Where,  ranged  in  vials  on  some  shelves, 

Were  what  he  termed  the  hopes  and  fears  of 
men. 


To  question  of  "what  seek  you  to  attain?" 
He  sighed,  then  oped  his  lips  and  spake : 

"If  life  is  long  enough  my  one  desire  is 

To  find  what  elements  a  perfect  being  make. 

47 


KODAKS. 


"I've  had  the  cast-off  souls  of  many  mortals  here, 
And  blending  them  together  is  my  art; 

One  trouble  is,  a  soul  is  most  worn  out 
When  of  the  body  it  declines  to  be  a  part. 


"A  soul  develops  and  perforce  inclines 
To  grow  abnormal  when  to  passion  lent; 

The  proof  of  this  is  test  by  crucible 

Where  residuum  shows  mainly  discontent. 


"Conjured  and  coddled,  spurred  on  by  vain  de 
sire, 

It  seeks  to  rise  above  contentment's  plain, 
And  wakes,  when  falling  in  the  muck  and  mire, 

To  learn  what  'tis  to  self  disdain. 


1  Tis  this  that  keeps  me  from    the    haunts    of 

men; 

I  seek  a  balm  the  microbe  to  cajole, 
But  hope  is  worn  to  texture  of  the  air, 
And  discontent  has  gained  another  soul." 


48 


LIAR. 


"LIAR"— Quite  a  word,  isn't  it?  Looking  at 
it,  standing  solitary  and  alone,  its  barren  simpli 
city  has  an  apparent  menace  and  looks  almost 
as  if  there  were  a  clenched  fist  somewhere  in  the 
immediate  vicinity,  ready  and  willing  to  back  up 
the  assertion. 

*         *         * 

There  is  quite  a  diversity  of  opinion  as  to 
what  constitutes  a  liar,  and  the  word  is  often 
applied  wrongfully  when  a  little  meditation 
would  avert  the  injustice. 

For  instance,  we  have  the  exaggerator,  who 
is  the  genius  Baron  Munchausen  or  a  fac  simile. 
It  is  a  rank  insult  to  a  genuine  liar  to  be  classed 
with  him,  for  the  exaggerator  finds  hearers  and 
believers  only  with  those  people  who  are  too 
lazy  to  work  their  own  thinker;  who  themselves 
lack  inspiration  and  depend  for  amusement  en 
tirely  upon  the  statements  of  others. 

49 


^  KODAKS. 

Scandal  mongers  are  included  in  the  cate- 
.gory.  That  is,  they  are  of  the  same  family,  but 
of  an  inferior  class,  for  instead  of  supplying 
harmless  delusions  that  fortify  a  brain  by  leav 
ing  it  desirous  of  something  better  and  more 
satisfying,  they  are  purveyors  of  delinquencies, 
or  supposed  delinquencies,  of  their  fellow  men 
and  women  that  gain  in  strength  and  rottenness 
as  they  pass  from  mouth  to  mouth,  the  tale-bear 
er,  ninety-nine  times  out  of  a  hundred,  being 
more  of  a  blot  on  the  community  than  the  one 
maligned. 


Then  there  is  the  prevaricator — a  harmless 
individual,  whose  name  is  legion.  Anyone  who 
is  the  victim  of  a  prevaricator's  remarks  most 
assuredly  deserves  to  be,  for  his  method  is  sim 
ply  to  dodge  the  issue,  or,  in  other  words,  not  to 
give  a  direct  reply  to  questions,  but  still  leave 
the  impression  that  he  is  in  accord  with  the 
querist's  wishes.  A  reasoner  does  not  assume 
a  matter  to  be  settled  unless  a  remark  is  made 
that  means  an  out  and  out  yes  or  no.  An  an 
swer  that  could  be  construed  either  way  would 
not  satisfy  him,  but  a  moderate  amount  of  in 
sistence  would  convince  him  that  the  questioned 

50 


KODAKS. 

either  could  not  or  would  not  give  the  desired  in 
formation,  and  he  would  desist. 


The  men  who  attain  proficiency  in  the  art  of 
prevaricating  very  often  accept  politics  as  their 
chosen  vocation,  and  in  time  become  factors  in 
moulding  the  destiny  of  the  nation,  and  begin 
their  march  for  the  Presidential  chair  by  carry 
ing  to  a  successful  issue  a  campaign  for  some 
city  or  county  office.  Occasionally  that  is  as 
far  as  they  get. 


Now  we  have  the  liar,  but  before  we  roll  him 
around  in  the  mud  and  mutilate  him  so  his' 
mother  wouldn't  recognize  him,  let  us  first  in 
vestigate  him  from  the  sunny  side  and  see  if  he 
has  any  virtues.  The  ancient  and  time-honored 
maxim  of  "tell  the  truth  and  shame  the  devil" 
is  a  good  enough  policy  for  a  vinegar-visaged, 
praying  hypocrite,  who  will  tell  you  with  one 
breath  that  the  Diety  loves  you,  and  with  the 
next  state  the  different  breeds  of  hell  and  dam 
nation  kept  on  tap  for  those  who  fail  to  worship 
Him  properly  or  keep  His  commandments.  It 
is  also  a  good  policy  for  a  person  who  possesses 

51 


KODAKS. 

neither  heart  nor  soul,  no  sentiment  to  appeal 
to,  and  no  ideas  of  general  consistency  to  upset. 
But  there  are  times  when  it  is  policy  to  lie ;  not 
only  to  lie,  but  to  stick  to  it,  no  matter  what 
comes  or  goes,  for  occasionally  by  so  doing  peo 
ple  can  be  saved  from  suffering,  and  what  they 
don't  know  will  never  hurt  them. 


Why  advocate  lying?  Beg  pardon;  I  am  not 
advocating  it,  but  simply  calling  attention  to  a 
few  points.  Of  course  lying  of  any  kind  would 
be  absolutely  unnecessary  if  every  one  were  a 
philosopher.  But  every  one  is  not,  and  never 
will  be.  Human  nature  is  the  same  old  back 
number  as  ever,  and  the  philosophically  inclined 
flock  so  much  by  themselves  that  the  probabili 
ties  are  the  qualities  will  never  become  con 
tagious. 


You,  my  middle-aged  friend,  who  have  any 
where  from  one  to  half  a  dozen  children  grow 
ing  up,  how  do  you  teach  them  to  be  truthful? 
Do  you  teach  them  to  come  to  you  with  every 
kind  of  yarn  they  hear  and  any  kind  of  a  scrape 
they  get  into,  and  talk  to  them  as  though  they 

52 


KODAKS 

were  your  equal ;  point  out  to  them  the  sinful- 
ness  of  the  deed,  separate  the  seed  from  the  chaff 
for  them;  then  pat  them  on  the  head  and  say: 
"Come  and  talk  to  dad  any  time  and  don't  be 
afraid?"  Or  do  you  say:  "If  ever  I  catch  you 
doing  such  a  thing  I'll  lambaste  the  liver  out  of 
you?"  If  the  latter  is  the  case  you  will  be  likely 
to  raise  as  many  liars  as  you  have  children,  for 
self-preservation,  the  first  law  of  nature,  is  as 
instinctive  to  a  child  as  breathing,  and  it  is  abso 
lutely  safe  to  speculate  that  a  child  who  antici 
pates  a  punishment  for  some  indiscretion  will  lie 
if  it  thinks  by  so  doing  there  is  a  possibility  of 
averting  the  calamity.  I  do  not  blame  them, 
and  neither  do  you,  if  you  can  put  yourself  in 
their  place,  which  is  a  very  difficult  matter  for  a 
person  to  do  who  is  bent  on  seeing  but  one  side 
of  a  case,  and  that  one  their  own. 


The  liar  who  lies  with  malice  in  such  a  way  as 
to  injure  his  fellow  man,  either  financially,  phy 
sically  or  morally,  is  the  scum  of  the  earth  and 
deserves  to  be  ostracized  the  same  as  a  mur 
derer.  One  can  guard  against  thieves  by  bolts 
and  bars;  by  ordinary  precaution  can  generally 

53 


KODAKS. 

avert  physical  disaster;  by  flocking  with  the 
proper  kind  of  birds  can  keep  their  cloak  of 
morals  unspotted;  but  there  has  as  yet  to  be  in 
vented  a  method  that  is  a  safeguard  against  the 
liar. 


I  mean  the  kind  of  a  "LIAR"  that  looks  as  if 
there  were  a  clenched  fist  back  of  it. 


STILL  AN  ENIGMA. 


To  those  who  daily  study 

Human  beings  and  their  freaks, 
Note  the  way  they  blow  their  noses 

And  the  language  that  they  speak, 
Who  have  grave  hallucinations 

Of  the  font  of  mortal  sin 
That  they  voice  in  predilections 

Aimed  at  those  of  nearest  kin ; 
Who  can  tell  man's  daily  habits 

By  the  contour  of  his  ears, 
And  by  measuring  his  digits 

Prophesy  his  span  of  years — 
I  would  ask  if  they  have  ever 

Tried  to  find  out  from  man's  walk 
Something  of  the  style  and  manner 

He  would  very  likely  talk? 
Simply  guessing  at  their  answer, 

We'll  suppose  such  is  the  case, 


KODAKJS. 

And  their  walking,  like  their  talking, 

Slow  or  like  a  steeplechase; 
Some  are  heavy  in  their  accent, 

Likewise  have  a  heavy  walk ; 
Others  have  a  voice  of  velvet — 

Like  a  tiger  soft  they  stalk. 
It  is  safe  to  say  that  every 

Son  of  man  who  treads  the  ground, 
In  his  walk  has  some  resemblance 

To  the  words  he  mouths  and  sound?, 
But  a  woman  is  one  creature 

That  no  action  is  a  guide 
To  portray  her  inmost  nature 

Or  the  speed  her  tongue  will  glide. 
She  may  be  young,  with  carriage  graceful, 

Yet  her  words  she's  slow  to  voice ; 
She  may  be  old  and  slow  of  motion — 

Talking,   talking,   is   her  choice; 
She  may  have  many  traits  or  features 

That  her  mode  of  life  reveals, 
But  she  never  tells  by  walking 
If  she  talks  or  squawks  or  squeals. 


56 


RESPECT  POVERTY -IT  MIGHT  CHANGE. 


Once  on  a  time,  as  stories  go, 

In  a  quaint  old  country  town, 
Lived  a  lad  known  as  "that  boy  of  Nate's,* 

Who  was  termed  the  village  clown. 

Ungainly  and  awkward  as  a  baby  calf, 

He  was  always  filled  with  woe.. 
And  to  add  to  his  lack  of  personal  loor:s, 
Wore  the  worst  of  mismatched  clothes. 

Like  the  mongrel  with  can  attached  to  his  tail, 

That  from  every  one  gets  a  kick, 
The  lad  was  disheartened  by  curses  and  blows, 

And  of  life,  with  its  cares,  was  sick. 

One  night  he  was  roused  from  his  miserable 

bed 
By  the  gleam  of  the  bright  moonlight, 

57 


KODAKS. 

And,  gazing  far  off  in  that  brilliant  flood, 
Resolved  to  find  safety  in  flight. 

He  wandered  afar  from  his  childhood's  home, 

To  a  land  where  all  was  new; 
Where  clowns  were  unknown,  if  a  nature  proved 

That  it  cared  to  be  right  and  true. 

''That  boy  of  Nate's"  soon  earned  his  friends, 

And  they  to  the  lad  gave  hope 
That  somp  dav  a  fortune  he'd  certainly  own, 

That  was  dug  on  the  Golden  Slope. 

Unprophetic  as  guess  of  a  miner  may  be, 
Still  they  always  say  what  they  like, 

But  this  time  the  words  proved  more  than  true, 
For  ''that  boy  of  Nate's"  made  a  strike. 

One  day  to  a  quaint  old  country  town, 

Came  a  man  who  desired  to  buy 
The  houses  and  lots  of  everyone  there, 

And  wanted  to  mortgage  the  sky. 

They  fell  in  love  with  his  every  word, 

And  attempted  by  every  stealth, 
To  gain  the  good  will  of  the  lucky  man, 

Who  had  such  a  world  of  wealth. 


KODAKS. 

After  they  all  had  bowed  and  smirked 

In  a  quaint  old  country  town, 
He  told  them  that  he  was  "that  boy  of  Nate's" — 

Did  they  remember  "the  village  clown?" 

"Well — well — yes  ;  but  that  was  long  ago ; 

Now,  you  know,  you've  gained  renown; 
You'll  surely  spend  your  life  in  peace 

In  this  quaint  old  country  town?" 

I 

But  he  firmly  declined,  and  went  away 
From  that  quaint  old  country  town, 

And  ever,  from  that  day  unto  this, 
They  have  had  no  village  clowns. 


AN  OLD  STORY. 


What  a  glorious  conception  of  possibilities 
the  young  are  endowed  with.  This  was  brought 
to  my  notice  very  plainly  on  reading  a  wedding 
announcement  recently,  as  I  am  acquainted  with 
the  contracting  parties,  and  know  the  groom  to 
be  a  nice  boy  who  earns  about  seven  dollars 
per  week  and  the  bride  to  be  a  daughter  of  the 
proverbially  poor  but  honest  parents.  The  boy 
has  no  immediate  prospect  of  a  raise  of  salary 
and  neither  one  has  any  wealthy  relatives  or 
friends  to  help  them,  and  if  they  did  have,  the 
chances  are  they  wouldn't.  You  old  boys  and 
girls  who  are  familiar  with  the  complications 
liable  to  conjugal  felicity  can  foresee  a  few  of  the 
thorns  that  will  prod  these  youngsters  for  don 
ning  marital  armor  ere  they  possess  the  where 
withal  to  keep  it  burnished.  Romance  is  very 
nice  and  shouid  be  cultivated,  but  should  never 

60 


KODAKS. 

be  harvested  until  there  is  a  warehouse  to  store 
it  in,  and  an  empty  stomach  craves  something 
that  the  heart-beat  of  passion  will  not  satisfy. 
Neither  can  a  ragged  back  be  clothed  and 
warmed  by  words  of  affection  and  love  will  "fly 
out  of  the  window/'  providing  there  is  one  to 
fly  out  of,  just  as  quick  to-day  as  it  ever  would 
if  there  are  no  creature  comforts  in  the  house 
to  entice  it  to  remain. 


TO  BE  A  SAGE,  REQUIRES  OLD  AGE. 


The  keen  observer  of  the  past, 

Who  knoweth  all  wise  things, 
Loves  to  caution  the  unwary 

Of  hidden,  living  stings. 
He  also  acts  as  counselor 

In  guidance  through  the  strife, 
And  points  his  bony  ringer 

At  the  various  spans  of  life. 


He  tells  with  tender  accent 

Of  childhood's  happy  days, 
When  the  panorama  shows  them 

Joy  in  many  and  varied  ways, 
Of  the  days  when  they  were  learning 

Theories  stilted  to  the  time, 
That  their  elders  try  to  argue 

Lead  to  life,  pure  and  sublime. 


KODAKS. 

He  marks  as  the  most  trying  stage, 

Or  epoch  of  man's  time, 
Is  when  he  lines  the  orbit 

Leading  to  a  life  divine; 
When  he  is  groping  blindly 

For  the  road  that  leads  to  fame, 
With  a  heart  full  of  desire 

To  gain  himself  a  name. 

Then  the  calm  of  the  meridian, 

When  he  views  the  after  glow 
Of  dreams  that  never  were  attained — 

Those  hopes  of  long  ago. 
He  shows  the  gray  haired  patriarch 

In  the  honor  of  old  age ; 
He's  burned  out  every  living  hope, 

And  thus  becomes  a  sage. 


THEY  NEVER  CHANGE. 


Professor  Jordan  says:  "Man  is  prone  to 
look  on  things  as  they  are,  and  women  more 
prone  to  look  to  what  things  may  become." 

I  suppose  the  professor  is  prepared  to  back  his 
assertion  up  with  several  cords  of  argument, 
but  I  beg  leave  to  differ  with  him  about  the 
mental  vision  of  the  male  biped  and  will  temper 
his  remarks  by  stating  that  man  is  prone  to  look 
on  things  as  he  supposes  they  are,  and  his  sup 
positions  are  just  about  as  correct  as  those  of  an 
intuitive  female.  He  will  jump  at  a  conclusion 
without  attempting  to  ascertain  what  it  is  loaded 
with,  and  occasionally  it  goes  off  before  he  has 
time  to  drop  it. 

The  average  man  listens  just  as  attentively  to 
the  voice  of  a  mischief  maker  as  does  a  sewing 
circle  scandal  monger;  drinks  in  the  words  of 
deceit  poured  into  his  ears  by  the  wily  individual 


KODAKS. 

who  for  the  time  being  has  undertaken  the  task 
of  driving  spikes  in  some  one's  coffin.  This 
amateur  coffin  maker  is  the  bane  of  modern 
civilization  and  is  the  obstacle  that  forever  blocks 
the  way  to  good  fellowship  among  mankind.  He 
is  the  individual  who,  for  'some  real  or  fancied 
grievance,  lays  awake  nights  studying  up  ways 
and  means  to  destroy  his  victim's  credit  or 
standing  in  society.  He  is  the  unbalanced 
scavenger  who  imagines  himself  a  hero  because 
he  maligns  an  individual  who  neglected  to  word 
a  prayer  the  way  he  would,  or  who  failed  to  ac 
cent  an  amen  that  chorded  with  his  conception 
of  harmony. 

Women  talk  about  each  other  in  a  spiteful 
manner.  Man  looks  on,  listens  and  says,  "They 
don't  mean  anything;  they're  just  talking."  And 
readily  forgets  the  vituperation. 

Men  talk  about  each  other,  trade  on  each 
other's  gullibility  to  a  greater  extent  than  wo 
men  ever  dreamed  of  doing.  The  Honorable 
John  Goldbug  sits  in  his  private  office  brooding 
over  a  fancied  wrong  and  resolves  to  circulate  a 
story  that  a  certain  man  agreed  to  do  a  certain 
thing  and  failed  to  keep  his  promise.  Of  course 
he  would  have  to  be  very  circumspect  in  starting 
the  narrative.  It  wouldn't  do  to  say  that  he,  the 

6s. 


KODAKS. 

upright  citizen,  was  the  instigator  of  such  a  tale. 
He  would  simply  say  that  he  heard  thus  and  so. 
He  would  be  no  worse  than  many  another  cow 
ard  and  would  have  ample  precedent  for  his  fic 
tion. 

Of  course  his  friends  would  attach  a  great  deal 
of  importance  to  what  so  noble  a  man  had  heard 
and  would  lend  wings  to  the  story  without  at 
tempting  to  ascertain  or  even  questioning  the 
whys  and  wherefores  of  the  allegation. 

Therefore,  I  say  the  country  needs  a  new  man; 
needs  him  worse  than  it  does  a  new  woman,  and 
never  will  get  him  any  more  than  it  will  a  new 
woman,  for  she  will  be  a  woman  just  the  same, 
even  if  she  wears  four  pair  of  knickerbockers; 
and  a  man  will  be  a  man  just  the  same;  just  as 
easy  to  gull,  just  as  easy  to  arouse  malice  and 
jealousy  in  his  heart,  as  if  he  had  the  philosophy 
of  ten  centuries  condensed  and  packed  into  his 
cranium. 


FANCY  HELPS  MANY  A  CAUSE. 


The  frogs  were  croaking  in  the  marsh, 
One  spring  time  eve,  so  calm  and  still; 

When  weaving  through  the  shades  of  time, 
Came  memory  of  an  olden  thrill. 

That  vague  and  shadowy,  startling  shock, 
Followed  so  oft  by  shivering  chill; 

A  starting  point  for  wealth  or  joy, 
Or  milestone  marking  birth  or  ill. 

A  step  outside  the  rut  of  life, 

Beyond  the  cares  which  seem  to  shroud, 
To  view  a  rainbow  of  desire, 

That  melts  into  a  sombre  cloud, 

That  for  a  time,  too  brief  by  far. 

Holds  heart  and  brain  in  vise-like  way, 

Till  tyrant  reason  holds  a  court, 

And  triumphs  to  resume  its  sway — 

67 


KODAKS. 

A  ruler  that  is  worse  by  far 

Than  hand  of  man  could  ever  be, 

For  reason  holds  the  curtain  back 
So  heart  and  brain  can  plainly  see — 

A  face  that's  but  a  smiling  mask, 

A  form  that's  naught  but  earthy  clay, 

A  mind  too  shallow  to  discern 

The  time  to  work  or  place  to  play. 

Then  judgment  of  the  self  revokes 
The  opening  of  a  cancerous  sore ; 

Rebuilds  a  soul  within  the  form, 
And  softly  spreads  the  curtain  o'er. 


WEARY  RAGGLES  SERMON. 


A  cadaverous,  knee-sprung,  buckskin  plug, 
who  answers  to  the  name  of  Nancy  Hanks,  and 
I  concluded  to  go  bumming  in  the  country  last 
Sunday.  That  is,  I  did  the  concluding  and 
Nancy  Hanks  the  going.  We  had  a  real  pleasant 
time,  jogging  along  the  highways  and  watching 
the  myriads  of  nimble  little  squirrels  that  assist 
the  farmer  in  running  up  his  expense  account 
while  they  are  running  over  and  under  his  fields ; 
admiring  the  farm  houses,  with  sacks  and  old 
comforters  stuffed  into  broken  windows ;  har 
vesters  and  gang  plows  grouped  gracefully  in 
the  front  yard;  pigs  gamboling  over  the  place 
where  the  lawn  ought  to  be.  and  a  broken- 
backed  barn  or  two  in  the  background.  Such 
pastoral  scenes  thrill  my  heart  with  a  kind  of 
vinegar  joy  and  I  hasten  away  from  them  for 
fear  that  I  may  be  overcome  with  swelling 
emotions  and  die  on  the  premises. 


KODAKS. 

There  was  a  church  at  a  cross  roads,  and  from 
the  large  number  of  vehicles  congregated  at  that 
point  the  house  must  have  been  well  filled.  A 
gay  and  joyous  bride  of  some  fifty  summers 
sat  on  the  church  steps,  giving  a  child  in 
arms  some  lunch,  which  nature  had  been 
thoughtful  enough  to  have  her  bring  with  her. 
Three  little  boys  were  playing  one-old-cat  in  the 
shadow  of  the  building,  and  out  through  the 
open  door,  into  the  bright,  glad  sunshine,  floated 
the  words  of  the  pastor.  They  were  of  the  old- 
fashioned,  revival  kind — loud  enough  and  light 
enough  to  float  anywhere.  We  were  tired,  but 
knew  that  wouldn't  be  a  good  place  to  rest  un 
til  the  minister  finished  unwinding  his  alarm 
clock,  so  we  journeyed  on  for  a  couple  of  miles, 
and,  turning  Nancy  loose  to  browse  on  the  ver 
dure,  I  sat  down  on  a  grassy  knoll,  'neath  a  wide 
spreading  oak,  and  proceeded  to  meditate  upon 
the  evils  of  humanity.  Lost  in  reverie,  I  was  un 
conscious  of  the  approach  of  a  pedestrian  until 
he  stood  beside  me.  He  was  a  genuine  "Weary 
Raggles,"  with  a  tin  can  at  his  belt  and  a  roll  of 
ragged  blankets  on  his  back ;  his  hair  resembled 
a  miniature  haystack,  and  cinnamon  brown  toes 
peered  from  his  rusty  shoes. 

"Well?"  said  I. 

70 


KODAKS. 

"Well?"  said  he. 

"Where's  your  crown  of  thorns?" 
"Where's  my  what?" 

"Crown  of  thorns.  Aren't  you  a  follower  of 
honest  labor?" 

"Yes,  I  foller  it,  but  I  take  dern  good  care  not 
to  ketch  it." 

"Where's  your  cross  of  gold?" 

"Along  with  my  other  valuables.  I  reckon. 
What  d'ye  think  I'd  be  doin'  with  one  any  way?" 

"Just  carrying  it  around  to  show  plutocrats 
the  miserable  existence  you  are  following. " 

"That's  yer  lead,  is  it?  Well,  jest  let  me  tell 
yer  I  aint  miserable.  Do  yer  imagine  fur  a  minit 
thet  I  looks  miserable?" 

"You  certainly  have  license  to  be  classed  in 
that  category." 

"Well,  yer  mistaken.  I'm  one  of  the  most  in 
dependent  men  in  the  world,  I  am.  I  used  ter 
be  what  is  called  respecterble,  but  got  over  it.  I 
wus  a  business  man  in  a  big  city  once.  Don't 
look  much  like  it  now,  do  I?  Ha!  ha!  I  got 
tired  of  gettin'  up  at  a  certain  hour  and  goin'  ter 
an  office  and  listening  ter  all  kinds  of  kicks  from 
people  I  didn't  care  a  dem  fur.  and  chippin'  in 
fur  this  thing  and  that  thing  and  eatin'  at  jest 
sech  a  time,  but  I  reckon  I  could  have  stood 

71 


KODAKS. 

that  kind  of  graft  all  right  if  I  hadn't  discovered 
what  a  set  of  all-fired  liars  people  are,  and  if  they 
aint  liars  they've  got  to  be  lied  to  to  make  them 
think  they're  enjoyin'  life.  Why,  bless  yer  soul, 
when  I  wus  a  young  feller  I  jumped  inter  th^ 
swim  with  a  heart  full  of  good  resolutions  and 
a  desire  to  tell  the  truth  at  all  times.  I  started 
in  thet  way,  and  when  a  man  came  into  my  office 
I  talked  ter  him  straight  from  my  heart  and  gave 
him  the  benefit  of  my  experience  and  told  him 
facts  about  things  he  wanted  ter  buy  uv  me,  and 
he'd  go  away  and  buy  from  some  smart  aleck 
down  the  street  and  tell  him  to  boot  thet  I  wus 
the  biggest  liar  in  the  city.  Course,  I  eventually 
heard  these  things  and  it  made  me  mad — mad- 
dern  blazes,  and  I  fell  right  into  the  trap,  and,- 
purty  soon  I  had  the  game  as  well  as  the  name. 
But  they's  allus  sum  shark  layin'  around  and 
tryin'  to  get  a  man's  business  away  from  him. 
Everybody  lies  to  him.  Course,  they  go  about  it 
in  different  ways.  His  spiritual  adviser  aint  jest 
like  his  banker  and  his  banker  aint  like  his  poli 
tical  friends,  who  hold  office  or  want  office ;  but 
they  all  get  there  accordin'  to  their  creed  and 
callin',  and  the  hull  batch  of  them  jest  made  me 
so  sick  that  I  sold  out  my  business,  took  to  the 
road,  an'  here  I  am.  Purty,  aint  I?  Ha!  ha! 

72 


KODAKS. 

Wouldn't  go  fur  in  a  $10,000  beauty  show,  but 
yer  can  bet  yer  sweet  persimmons  thet  I  aint 
got  any  responsibilities.  I  don't  belong  to 
nothin'  nor  nobody ;  don't  hav  ter  go  ter  bed  nur 
get  up  unless  I  want  ter;  don't  haf  ter  lie  ter  any 
body  and  anybody  don't  haf  ter  lie  ter  me.  I  eat 
when  I  get  a  chance,  which  suits  me,  and  I 
wouldn't  trade  places  wid  McKinley  himself. 
See?" 

I  don't  really  know  whether  I  saw  or  not. 
Nancy  was  rested,  and,  getting  into  the  buggy, 
I  returned  to  town,  and  have  been  wondering 
whether  I  dreamed  the  foregoing  or  whether 
Weary  Raggles  paused  by  the  wayside  that 
peaceful  Sabbath  morning  and  preached  to  me  a 
sermon. 


OUR  FLAG  AND  COUNTRY. 


By  every  hearthstone  in  this  land  of  freedom, 
Fond  hearts  are  mourning  for  the  martyred 
slain, 

Who  passed  beyond  the  pale  of  life  and  sorrow, 
While  serving  Uncle  Sam  upon  the  Maine. 

Hearts  true  as  steel,  they  sought  to  serve 
Old  freedom's  banner,  waved  on  high, 

On  peaceful  mission  to  a  foreign  nation — 
Who  could  foresee  the  way  that  they  should 
die? 

Had  gallant  ship  gone  down  in  height  of  com 
bat, 

Midst  crashing  shells  and  cannon's  thunder 
ing  roar, 

On  gilded    shrine    their    names    would    be    en- 
scrolled 
As  heroes  now,  to-day  and  evermore. 


KODAKS. 

But  mocking  treachery,  the  birthright  of  a  Latin- 
speaking  race, 

That  either  is  a  tyrant  or  a  cringing  hound, 
Has  wrested  from  us  brave  and  faithful  seamen, 
At  thought  of  which  our  hearts  with   anger 
bound. 

Yes,  bound  and  throb,  with  all  the  warlike  spirit 
That  can  abide  within  the  heart  of  youth ; 

The  spirit  that  upholds  right  for  right's  sake, 
That  fights  with  open  face  and  fears  no  truth. 

Why  should  the  poltroon  of  the  land  and  sea, 
In  rank  but  little  better  than  the  Turk. 

Be  left  to  gloat  o'er  wreck  of  ruined  homes. 
Or  given  a  chance  to  do    some    other    dirty 
work? 

Why  should  this  nation,  rich  beyond  all  dreams, 
With  lands  of  gold  and  peaceful,  happy  homes. 

Be  made  the  victim  of  the  wrath  and  hate 

Of  sneaking,   stealing,   slave-driving  Spanish 
drones? 

Why  should  we  wait  until  their  caviling  hordes, 
WTho  change  their  minds  with  every  breath  of 
air, 

75 


KODAKS. 


Have  had  the  time  to  build  more  ships  and  plan 
A  scheme  of  wreckage  for  our  country  fair? 


The  land  which  they  infest  and  call  a  nation — 
Not  half  so  large  as  this,  our  Golden  State- 
Holds  but  a  potpourri  of  wretched  vermin, 
Scum  of  the  earth,  from  humans  far  relate. 


The  cruelties  they  practiced  on  their  subjects — 
A  better  name  would  be  to  call  them  slaves — 

Who  had  their  homes  upon  the  Queen  of  An 
tilles, 
Proves  them  to  be  a  nest  of  snarling  knaves. 

Woe,  woe,  is  war,  and  war  is  woe, 

For  death  must  claim  a  tithe  in  time  of  strife; 
But  better  brilliant  death  than  weak  dishonor, 

Which  menaces  to  sap  the  nation's  life. 

Give  them  a  chance    to    prove    their    non-con 
nivance 
With  dastard  action    that  has    wrecked    the 

Maine ; 

Sent  gallant  sailors  down  to  Davy  Jones; 
Branding  a  nation  with  the  curse  of  Cain. 

76 


KODAKS. 

Then,  if  'tis  proven  to  the  satisfaction 

Of  those  who  have  the  power  to  call  to  arms, 

That  treachery  wrecked  the  noble  warship, 
Ring  forth  the  tocsin  for  general  alarm. 

Some  think  that  patriotism  has  died  out — 
Love  of  our  country  and  our  homes  an  ancient 
myth; 

Love  of  the  flag  we've  sworn  to  love  and  honor, 
A  memory  full  of  sentiment,  but  lacking  pith. 

But  should  the  trumpet  sound  o'er  land  and  sea: 
"Americans,  your  flag  is  trampled  in  the  dust, 

And  needs  your  help  to  nail  it  to  the  masthead." 
Think  you  the  call  would  read,  "You  must?" 

No;  for  brave  hearts  with  love  of  country  crowd 
ing 

Their  petty  hopes  and  selfish  joys  aside, 
Would  march  to  battle  and  lay  down  their  lives 

For  the  same  flag  for  which  their  fathers  died 


A  MODERN  PLAGUE. 


Ever  since  human  beings  accumulated  the 
habit  of  keeping  diaries  on  pyramids,  in  tombs 
or  some  outlandish  place  where  no  one  would 
think  of  looking  for  them,  with  a  system  of 
hieroglyphics  no  one  could  understand  but 
themselves,  put  down  in  something  the  same 
manner  as  the  country  merchant  who  could  not 
write,  but  had  a  crude  idea  of  drawing,  and  when 
he  sold  anything  on  credit  made  a  sketch  in  his 
book  of  the  purchaser  and  the  articles  he  bought 
and  trusted  to  luck  in  staying  alive  until  the  man 
paid  up,  we  have  the  records  of  various  kinds  of 
plagues.  There  have  been  plagues  of  war  and 
religion,  of  fevers  and  smallpox,  of  famine  and 
drouth,  of  flood  and  fire,  of  grasshoppers  and 
locusts ;  but  the  plague  of  the  nineteenth  century 
is  the  plague  of  scientists.  We  pick  up  our  daily 
paper  and  read  on  the  first  page  a  scholastic  de- 

78 


KODAKS. 

Hneation  by  the  Honorable  So-and-So  on  the 
benefits  to  be  derived  from  drinking  water  and 
how  the  free  and  unrestrained  use  of  the  same 
prolongs  life.  On  the  next  page  is  a  masterly 
article  by  Doctor  Somebody,  who  explains  why 
and  how  the  human  frame  is  turned  to  stone  by 
drinking  water,  and  who  proves  beyond  a  doubt 
that  it  is  suicide,  pure  and  simple,  for  a  human 
being  to  partake  of  the  nectar  Jupiter  sipped.  On 
the  next  page  is  a  lengthy  article  on  bread,  the 
staff  of  life,  which  goes  on  to  explain  how  man 
could  live  and  thrive  on  bread  alone,  how  it 
makes  brain  and  brawn;  while  on  the  following 
page  the  eminent  specialist,  Professor  Humbug, 
tells  how  the  use  of  bread  undermines  the  sys 
tem;  how  it  ferments  in  the  stomach,  ruins  the 
general  health  and  finally  forces  those  who  par 
take  of  same  into  an  untimely  grave. 

Astronomers  destroy  our  equanimity  and  dis 
turb  our  peaceful  slumbers  by  explaining  to  us 
in  lucid  and  comprehensive  manner  that  the  sun 
is  about  to  become  a  planet,  divided  against  it 
self,  and  how  the  part  that  shakes  the  paternal 
roof  and  takes  to  the  road  will,  if  it  succeeds  in 
passing  the  temptations  of  the  milky-way  (not 
generally  known  as  the  cocktail  route  or  tender 
loin  of  the  skies)  likely  make  a  bosom  friend  of 


KODAKS. 

this  little  one-horse  world  of  ours,  and  in  the 
heat  of  its  passion  roast  it  to  a  cinder,  or  else  by 
the  force  of  its  superior  attractions,  lead  it  off  on 
a  high  old  skylarking  tour  to  visit  other  worlds, 
and,  if  possible,  knock  them  off  their  pins. 
It  makes  my  blood  run  cold  to  think  of  all 
the  horrible  things  that  are  liable  to  happen 
to  us  at  any  moment.  The  wise  men's  words' 
ring  in  our  ears  and  we  see  poison  lurking  in  the 
innocent-looking  viands  we  are  invited  to  eat, 
taste  microbes  in  every  mouthful  of  air  we 
breathe,  instinctively  dodge  whenever  we  see  a 
shadow,  thinking  it  is  a  vagrant  world  on  the 
rampage;  and  really  there  would  be ' one.  good 
thing  accomplished  if  the  sun  should  fly  off  the 
handle  and  annihilate  the  earth,  for  at  the  same 
time  the  plague  of  scientists  would  go  the  way  of 
the  common  herd,  who  eat  \vhen  they  are  hun 
gry,  who  drink  when  they  are  dry,  who  have 
some  hope  of  heaven,  and  expect  some  day  to 
die,  and  it  would  take  at  least  twenty  centuries 
to  evolve  another  batch  of  them. 


STRIKE  AN  AVERAGE. 


Speaking  of  scientists  brings  to  mind  various 
breeds  of  character  delineators  who  try  to  tell  a 
person's  good  and  bad  qualities,  ability  or  lack 
of  ability  to  accomplish  certain  things  by  the 
shape  of  their  ears,  nose,  mouth,  hands  or  feet,, 
or  by  the  way  they  walk  or  talk,  using  in  any 
case  but  a  single  characteristic  of  an  individual, 
It  is  rank  nonsense  to  suppose  that  such  a  thing- 
can  be  done,  and  when  they  do  hit  it  off  right' 
they  are  just  as  much  entitled  to  credit  as  the 
man  who  says,  "I  think  it  will  rain  to-night," 
and  it  does,  and  so  he  gets  credit  for  being  a 
weather  prophet,  while  if  it  did  not  rain  he  would 
still  be  thought  a  nice,  pleasant  gentleman — 
quite  an  authority  on  weather,  still,  like  men  of 
more  humble  pretentious,  liable  to  make  mis 
takes.  Take  handwriting,  for  instance.  I  know* 
a  man  who  is  just  about  as  hard-headed  and 


KODAJK&.  . 

practical  as  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to  be;  still  a 
delineator  of  chirography  would,  the  instant  he 
glanced  at  the  signature,  say  the  owner  of  the 
same  was  a  brainless  fop  who  laid  awake  nights 
studying  how  to  beautify  himself,  and  I  know  for 
a  fact  that  this  man  lays  awake  nights  studying 
up  ways  and  means  to  force  his  creditors  into 
the  hands  of  the  Sheriff.  Instances  like  this  go 
to  prove  that  it  is  neither  safe  nor  reliable  to 
judge  an  individual  by  a  single  characteristic. 
They  must  be  taken  as  a  whole  and  an  average 
struck,  and  it  isn't  advisable  to  make  the  stand 
ard  too  high,  either,  for  if  you  do  it  is  liable  to 
tip  over  and  get  cracked. 


KO  PING  Kl  Tl   (Hatchet  Man). 


A  hatchet  man  lay  on  his  cushionless  couch, 

Thinking  thunks  for  the  unredeemed, 
Till  the  opium  fuddled  his  yellow  pate, 

Then  he  closed  his  eyes  and  dreamed 
Of  a  fat  " Yum- Yum"  and  a  slim  "Bo  Peep," 

Roast  pig  and  a  juglet  of  gin, 
Of  parboiled  rice,  grilled  rats  and  mice, 

The  eating  of  which  is  no  sin ; 
Four  aces  he  held  in  a  poker  game, 

And  with  his  ill-gotten  gold, 
He  purchased  a  quartet  of  almond-eyed  maids, 

Just  to  prove  he  was  woolly  and  bold ; 
Then  hied  he  away  to  an  alley  dark, 

Where  he  thought  for  a  time  he'd  abide, 
Until  he  had  squandered  the  rest  of  his  gold 

And  made  love  to  his  quadruple  bride. 
*         *         * 

Twas  then  the  pipe  fell  from  his  listless  hand — 

He  had  used  up  all  his  dope, 
So  he  came  back  to  earth  from  the    realms    of 
bliss- 

A  hatchet  man,  stupid  and  broke. 

83 


SLIM  JIM'S  LAMENT. 


Last  evening  while  eating  a  frugal  dinner  in  a 
Weber  avenue  cafe  who  should  walk  in  but  my 
old  friend  "Fat  Jack."  Seating  himself  at  an  ad 
joining  table  he  ordered  a  plain  but  substantial 
repast,  which  he  was  soon  eating  with  evident 
relish.  "Fat  Jack"  was  looking  extremely  well, 
even  for  him.  His  expansive  countenance  was 
often  illuminated  by  a  smile  and  his  voice  sound 
ed  cheery  and  bracing.  I  was  not  surprised  to 
see  "Slim  Jim"  join  him,  and,  safely  ensconced 
behind  a  paper,  I  watched  them  and  listened  to 
their  conversation. 

"Slim  Jim"  was  commenting  on  the  quality  of 
"Fat  Jack's"  dinner,  and  in  sneering  tones  al 
luded  to  it  as  unfit  for  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar, 
remarking  that  he  couldn't  for  the  life  of  him  see 
how  a  man  could  eat  beefsteak,  potatoes,  pie 
and  such  plebeian  disnes.  As  for  himself,  he 

84 


KODAKS. 

couldn't  possibly  think  of  eating  anything  but 
frogs'  legs,  squabs,  terrapin,  etc.,  and  then  only 
when  he  had  plenty  of  champagne  to  wash  them 
down. 

"Fat  Jack"  laughed  long  and  loud,  and  then 
queried:  "  'Slim  Jim,'  when  did  you  dine?" 

"Dine!  I  haven't  dined  for  a  week.  My 
stomach  even  now  is  sticking  to  my  back  for 
want  of  food.  I  have  two  dollars,  and  if  you 
could  loan  me  three  more  I  could  satisfy  my  ap 
petite  for  the  time  being." 

"Not  even  on  your  shape,  'Slim  Jim,'  would  I 
do  so.  A  four-bit  meal  satisfies  me,  and  I  don't 
propose  to  humor  you,  especially  as  you  have 
money.  Get  out  of  here,  you  scarecrow ;  you 
give  me  the  shivers." 

"That's  just  like  you,  'Fat  Jack.'  Here  am  I, 
known  as  'Slim  Jim,'  who  cannot  eat  common 
food,  hence  I  am  ever  hungry;  I  cannot  wear 
common  clothes,  hence  I  am  well  nigh  naked; 
I  cannot  ride  in  anything  but  a  carriage,  hence  I 
walk.  Ah,  me!  Fate  is  indeed  unkind." 

"Hold  on,"  said  Tat  Jack,'  "there  is  one  thing 
you  have  forgotten." 

"What  is  it?" 

"You  have  no  common  sense,  hence  you  are 
a  fool;  and  just  as  long  as  you  remain  the  par- 


KODAKS. 

ticular  brand  of  fool  that  you  are  you  will  alter 
nately  fast  and  feast — be  in  the  seventh  heaven 
or  in  the  dumps — and  until  you  can  take  life  as 
it  really  is  and  accept  conditions  which  exist  you 
will  be  'Slim  Jim,'  and  I,  who  have  solved  the 
problem,  will  still  be  known  as  the  serene,  con 
tented  Tat  Jack.'  " 


THE  PENALTY  OF  OLD  AGE. 


The  shining  light  of  day  has  gone, 
And,  in  its  place,  the  gruesome  night 

Seeks  to  bewilder  with  the  varied  scenes 
That  gleam  amid  the  many  spectral  lights- 


That  shine  from  doorways,  where  the  din 

Marks  place  as  gilded  den  of  sin ; 

Where  ribald  jest  and  curses,  long  and  loud, 
Seem  to  amuse  a  motley,  changing  crowd. 


But,  hark!    Above  the  babel  of  the  throng, 
Is  heard  the  melody  of  voice  in  song, 

And  tinkling  with  it,  trying  vain  to  hold  its 
own, 

An  old  piano,  that  long  since  lost  its  tone. 

87 


KODAKS. 

Feebly  the  chords  respond  to  touch  of  fingers 

strong; 
They  seem  to  say:     "How  long,  oh  Lord,  how 

long, 

Shall  I,  who've  long  since  seen  my  day, 
Be  thus  compelled  to  live  and  play?" 


No  answer  comes  to  soothe  the  throbbing  frame ; 

It  must  clang  on — the  silence  is  too  tame ; 
But  if  you  listen,  mingled  with  the  lively  tone, 
You'll  hear  the  old  piano  sob  and  moan. 


PIGEON  HOLES. 

Within  a  desk  are  pigeon  holes, 
Where  every  blessed  thing  is  stuck, 

That  seems  of  value  at  the  time — 
Tis  stowed  away  with  other  truck. 

But  mind  will  change,  even  in  man, 
And  when  the  stuff  is  sorted  o'er, 

He  wonders  why  he  saved  such  junk, 
And  litters  it  upon  the  floor. 

The  letters  from  a  faithless  friend — 
Some  promises  to  some  day  pay — 

Are  mixed  with  sundry  scented  notes, 
And  on  the  floor  together  lay. 

Those  clippings  from  the  Sunday  "News," 
That  at  the  time  seemed  just  the  thing, 

Are  now  a  rank  offense  to  sight — 
They  seem  to  have  a  sickly  ring. 


KODAK*. 

Some  relic  of  a  friend  that's  gone, 
O'er  and  beyond  the  great  divide, 

Is  laid  away — friends  are  too  scarce 
To  cast  their  memories  aside. 


Tis  thus  an  idle  hour  is  spent, 
In  sifting  out  the  treasures  sweet, 

And  consolation  'tis  to  know 

The  chaff  is  sorted  from  the  wheat. 


NECTAR  FOR  KINGS. 


It  was  midnight;  spirits  were  very  much  in 
evidence — but  no  ghosts.  The  scene  was  laid, 
and  will  be  laid  again — also  the  tablecloth — in  a 
spacious  banquet  hall,  capable  of  seating  forty 
people,  provided  most  of  them  stood  up.  On 
this  occasion  there  was  rather  a  chow-chow  as 
semblage,  including  grain  kings,  clothing  kings, 
bank  cashier  kings,  dentist  kings,  life  insurance 
kings,  and  a  few  king  fishers,  such  as  reporters 
and  lawyers. 

The  feast  had  appeared,  also  disappeared; 
the  spirits,  formerly  controlled  by  corks,  had 
escaped,  and  were  making  a  brief  pilgrimage 
through  the  blue  blood  of  the  assembled  kings. 
Starting  from  a  common  center,  they  coursed  to 
the  feet,  counter  marched  and  reached  the  heads, 
some  a  trifle  more  dilatory  than  others,  but  all 
arriving  in  time  to  realize  that  something  was 
doing. 

91 


KODAKS. 

The  fat  grain  king  was  telling  how  he  caught 
a  salmon  four  feet  long  in  the  Mediterranean 
Sea ;  the  slender  clothing  king  was  giving  object 
lessons  of  the  can-can;  the  bald-headed  bank 
cashier  king  was  talking  about  missionary 
values ;  the  Van  Dyked  beard  dentist  king  was 
trying  to  pull  a  leg  off  the  table ;  the  sylph-like 
insurance  king  was  hollering  "more  ginger,"  and 
the  king-fishers  were  listening. 

The  host,  who  wasn't  a  king  of  any  kind,  ex 
cept  among  men,  heard  the  call,  "more  ginger," 
silently  touched  a  concealed  button  which  open 
ed  a  section  of  the  wall,  attached  to  a  handle  of 
which  was  a  slender,  underfed  man  of  some 
years,  with  only  a  few  whiskers  on  his  head. 

"James!" 

The  handle  let  go  of  the  man  and  he  came 
slowly  forward,  a  questioning  gleam  in  the  depth 
©f  his  pale  blue  eyes. 

"James,  is  the  frapped  nectar  ready  to  serve?" 

"Hit  ham,  sir." 

"Very  well,  bring  it  in ;  also  the  cake." 

"Now  gentlemen,  or  rather  I  should  say  kings, 
I  crave  your  indulgence  for  a  few  brief,  fleeting 
moments.  Another  day  has  been  born;  the 
whirligig  of  time  is  gigging  away,  being  the  only 
perpetual  motion  ever  perfected.  Every  instant 

92 


KODAKS. 

it  is  placing  in  action  matters  of  greater  or  less 
importance,  and  has  selected  this  particular  hour 
as  the  most  propitious  in  which  to  bring  to  your 
notice  a  decoction,  the  equal  of  which  has  never 
been  known  on  earth.  It  was  within  reach  of 
Adam's  hand  in  that  glorious  impossibility,  the 
Garden  of  Eden ;  Pontius  Pilate  knew  of  its  exis 
tence;  Caesar  sent  caravans  in  search  of  it;  the 
immortal  Bard  of  Avon  knew  of  its  merits;  that 
man  of  destiny,  Napoleon,  treasured  it;  that 
gaunt,  grand  martyr,  Abraham  Lincoln,  on 
whose  brow  the  laurel  will  be  as  green  a  thous 
and  years  from  now  as  it  is  to-day,  that  disciple 
of  freedom,  who  forced  the  fetters  of  human 
slavery,  knew  and  revered  this  beverage;  that 
champion  of  untrammeled  mind,  Robert  Inger- 
soll,  who  burst  the  shackles  of  egotistical 
thought  and  action,  and  who  in  years  to  come 
will  be  better  known  as  the  liberator  of  the  white 
and  colored  races  alike,  from  a  mental  bondage 
that  chained  them  to  the  rock  of  human  suffering 
and  offered  them  the  choice  of  clinging  to  a  for 
lorn  hope  or  leaping  into  a  pit  of  fire,  honored 
this  drink  which  I  am  about  to  offer  you.  Yes, 
honored  it,  for  in  his  happiest  moments — those 
when  he  delighted  to  draw  the  picture  of  the 
blessings  that  follow  through  the  lives  of  those 


KODAKS. 

who  are  compatibly  mated,  those  who  earn  a  lit 
tle  and  spend  a  little  less — he  was  often  heard  to 
mention  this  liquid,  which  has  the  merit  of  being 
brewed  by  the  Almighty.  Kings,  drink;  drink 
your  fill." 

The  grain  king  drained  the  glass.  As  the 
sparkling  nectar  slipped  down  his  capacious 
throat  a  hissing  noise  was  heard  and  steam  pour 
ed  from  his  nostrils.  The  bank  cashier  king 
tasted  and  tasted,  finally  emptied  his  glass  and 
asked  for  more.  The  clothing  king  stopped 
dancing  the  can-can  long  enough  to  drink  a 
couple  of  glasses.  The  dentist  king  drank  part 
of  a  glass,,  looked  silly  and  fainted.  The  life  in 
surance  king  murmured  something  about  being 
up  against  the  real  thing  and  called  for  more. 
The  king-fishers  put  their  heads  together,  looked 
wise,  wagged  their  tongues  and  presently  seem 
ed  to  agree  on  some  point.  The  reporter  broke 
the  silence  (individually  he  had  been  broke  for 
some  time):  "Mine  host,  methinks  I  am  aware 
of  the  name  of  this  glistening  fluid.  With  your 
permission  I  will  hazard  an  opinion." 

"Granted.    What  is  it?" 

"It  is  water." 

"Correct;  ft  is  water." 


TIME  ONLY  HAS  NO  END. 


Time,  as  it  wanders  from  limitless  space, 
Laughs  at  the  earth  with  its  changing  face, 
And  wonders  when  dodging  the  milky  way, 
Why  man  should  feel  sad  at  the  close  of  day. 

For  the  earth,  when  robed  in  the  garb  of  spring, 
Bubbles  with  mirth,  and  the  glad  birds  sing 
Like  man,  who  in  vigor  of  youth  says,  "I, 
Who  am  strong  and  comely,  shall  never  die." 

The  summer  comes,  and  the  burning  sun 
Takes  from  the  grasses,  one  by  one. 

The  vigor  that  made  them  seem  so  rare, 
While  man  finds  out  that  life  has  care. 

The  fall,  when  the  stubble  field  so  bare, 

Tells  of  the  harvest  gathered  there, 

Finds  man  in  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf — 
Storm-tossed  and  cynic  beyond  belief. 

The  winter,  when  driving  wind  and  rain 

Seeks  to  revive  the  world  again, 

Finds  man  laid  away  in  his  narrow  bed, 
Oblivious  to  the  tumult  that  rages  o'erhead. 


•BIG  BUG." 


A  bug  is  a  bug,  no  matter  what  size,  shape  or 
color  it  is,  and  with  no  reference  to  the  locality 
where  it  was  from,  for  a  bug  can  change  location, 
if  not  at  some  one  else's  expense  it  can  at  its' 
own,  for  it  is  generally  endowed  with  the  power 
of  locomotion.  Bugs  develop  to  a  greater  or 
less  degree,  according  to  the  fruitfulness  of  the 
buggery  in  which  Dame  Fortune  has  cast  their 
lot.  As  a  general  rule  they  are  cannibalistic  in 
their  habits  and  prey  upon  each  other  with  the 
usual  result,  the  weaker  going  to  the  wall — of 
the  stomach — while  the  victorious  thrive  on  the 
spoils  of  conquest.  That  is,  they  generally  spoil 
after  getting  it,  and  become  abnormal  in  size  and 
more  particular  about  the  quality  of  bugs  they 
imbibe,  and  so  broad  of  girth  that  they  walk  on 
the  smaller  bugs  in  entire  unconsciousness  of 
their  proximity.  Once  in  a  while,  when  stepping 

96 


KODAKS. 

on  one  of  the  smaller  of  their  kind,  they  find 
them  slippery,  like  unto  the  tropical  fruit  peel 
ing,  and  wrench  their  ungainly  system  so  badly 
that  ere  they  can  recover  they  are  boiling  in  trie- 
pot  of  the  menial  and  ordinary  bug. 

The  prelude  is  simply  to  draw  your  attention  to 
the  term  big-bug  in  the  sense  it  is  generally  used, 
and  to  explain  the  derivation  of  the  term. 


ROMANCE. 


The  acme  of  ethereal  romance 
Is  alluring  and  tempting  to  view 

Through  a  vista  of  undefined  longings, 
Faintly  tinged  with  a  roseate  hue. 

Cupid's  victim,  seeking  to  transcend 
The  mount  of  reason,  by  a  rocky  slope, 

Laughs  lightly  at  disheveled  vesture — 
He  buoyed  is  by  omnipresent  hope. 

Upon  the  wings  of  faith  he's  carried  far 
To  mate  himself  unto  a  kindred  soul, 

That  in  the  glamour  of  withheld  defects, 
Is  reward  ample  for  his  penance  dole. 

The  mist  of  love  lifts  lightly,  and  afar 
Is  seen  a  vast  and  dusty  plain, 


KODAKS. 

With  bits  of  verdure  cropping  here  and  there,. 
Like  islands  peeping  from  the  rolling  main. 

The  vapor  settles  with  the  double  load, 

For  heart  is  lighter,  with  own  burdens  lone, 

Gilt  apex  soon  is  lost  to  vision — 

Gaunt  discord  brings  the  first  halftone. 

Some  fancied  grievance  or  well-meaning  truth 
Helps  cover  more  of  space  than  intervenes 

Between  the  rainbow  tints  of  perfect  love 
And  plain,  where  sombre  shades  are  seen. 

When  all  too  late,  a  backward  glance  discerns. 

No  vestige  of  the  fabled  garden  fair ; 
The  idol  shattered,  crumbles  to  the  dust, 

While  hope  dissolves  and  fades  away  in  air. 


A  FEW  DIRECTIONS. 


I  was  in  a  market  the  other  day  and  heard  a 
woman  order  a  turkey.  She  stipulated,  first,  that 
it  must  be  plump;  second,  that  it  must  weigh 
seven  pounds — no  more,  no  less ;  third,  that  it 
should  be  delivered  at  her  house  within  half  an 
hour;  fourth,  that  it  must  be  tender;  fifth,  that  it 
must  be  of  the  hen  variety ;  sixth,  that  it  should 
be  one  that  has  been  fattened  on  corn ;  seventh, 
that  she  didn't  want  that  little  Irishman  to  de 
liver  it ;  eighth,  that  she  wanted  two  pounds  of 
suet  donated  with  it ;  ninth,  that  it  should  be 
wrapped  in  white  paper  instead  of  brown ;  tenth, 
that  the  fine  feathers  should  be  singed  off; 
eleventh,  that  it  should  be  killed  with  chloro 
form  ;  twelfth,  that  its  throat  should  then  be  cut 
with  a  razor;  thirteenth,  that  it  should  be  hung 
up  by  the  hind  legs  for  two  hours  after  having  its 
throat  cut;  fourteenth,  that  the  collector  mustn't 
bring  the  bill  for  ninety  days;  and  the  market 
man  promised  to  do  all  these  things,  as  market 
men  will. 

100 


THE  SELFISH  SUNS. 


Said  the  rnoon  to  the  earth, 
When  he  called  at  night: 
"You're  not  looking  well ; 
Don't  you  feel  just  right?" 

""No,  you  know  my  sun, 

He's  made  me  so  dry — 
He  lives  beyond  you, 
Up  there  in  the  sky — 

"Got  up  this  morning, 

And  was  awfully  hot 
About  something  or  other — 
It  doesn't  matter  what. 

"He  took  the  cool  water 
I've  been  stowing  away, 

101 


KODAKS. 

Up  into  the  sky — 

It  has  turned  my  hair  gray. 

"But  it's  just  like  the  sons 

Of  some  mortals  I  know, 
Who  leave  the  old  folks 
To  hoe  in  life's  row — 

"Until  nothing  is  left 

But  a  furrow  of  care — 
A  promise  of  heaven, 

And  the  weakness  of  prayer." 


MATERNAL  LOVE. 


One  thousand  dollars  offered  as  a  prize  for  a 
horse  race ;  two  dollars  offered  as  a  prize  for 
the  handsomest  baby;  both  prizes  offered  by  the 
same  aggregation  of  intellect. 

I  supposr  the  great  unwashed  ar^  to  blame  for 
the  wide  diversity  of  valuation  between  the  ani 
mal  and  the  human,  for  while  a  man  may  admire 
and  covet  his  neighbor's  horses,  he  doesn't  covet 
his  neighbor's  children.  Every  mother  thinks 
her  baby  is  the  sweetest,  dearest,  brightest  crea 
ture  on  earth.  She  should  think  so.  If  she 
didn't  the  early  life  of  her  children  would  be  a 
pretty  hard  row  of  stumps.  Being  imbued  with 
this  idea,  she  enters  the  child  for  competition,, 
just  the  same  as  Farmer  Jones  enters  his  calves. 
Looking  at  her  infant  through  the  spectacles  of 
mother  love,  she  can  see  no  reason  why  her 
prodigy  shouldn't  carry  off  the  honors.  If  she  is 

103 


KODAKS. 

poor  she  will  go  without  the  necessaries  of  life 
to  buy  beautiful  clothes  for  her  baby,  and  as  she 
sits  down  in  the  crowd  of  "female  women,"  each 
holding  the  same  opinion  in  her  mind  and  her 
cherub  in  her  lap,  her  bosom  swells  with  love  and 
pride  and  fear.  Yes,  fear  that  the  judges  may  be 
biased  and  do  her  offspring  an  injustice. 

The  contest  is  over,  the  prizes  are  awarded, 
and  two  or  three  have  the  satisfaction  of  know 
ing  their  judgment  to  be  correct.  But  what  of 
the  rest?  Weary  and  sick  at  heart,  their  tired 
limbs  drag  them  home,  where  they  can  sob  out 
their  misery  and  shame.  Shame  at  their  folly 
in  subjecting  their  darlings  to  such  an  ordeal, 
and  misery  because  having  done  so,  they  were 
weighed  in  the  balance  and  found  to  be  inferior 
specimens  of  humanity. 


104 


JEST  NOBODY. 


Nobody,  jest  nobody. 

Hustlin'  aroun'  in  the  world; 
Aint  seekin'  nuthin'  or  lookin' — 

Everything  seems  so  cold. 

Leastwise,  jest  glancin'  at  it, 

Whil'st  trottin'  along  in  the  race; 

Can't  see  no  sunshine  in  it,* 

'Cepting  now  and  then  a  face — 

Thet  peeks  out  of  grimy  doorways, 

And,  for  a  minit  or  two, 
Shines  o'er  the  road  I'm  treadin', 

'Twixt  lines  mighty  narrow  and  blue. 


10S 


CUTE,  BUT  TROUBLESOME. 


Some  dainty  bits  of  dainty  lace, 
Fringing  a  wee,  round,  dimpled  face, 

Some  golden  curls,  tossed  by  the  breeze, 
A  tiny  nose  that  tries  to  sneeze, 
Two  pudgy  fists,  two  pretty  eyes, 
A  mouth  that  laughs,  and  also  cries, 
Two  little  feet  with  cunning  toes, 
Belong  to  a  baby,  as  everyone  knows. 


106 


THE  SOUL 


A  famous  novelist  makes  a  character  say: 
"The  soul  originally  is  a  small  affair,  but  can  be 
made  whatever  the  owner  chooses  by  education. 
It  can  be  raised  to  any  height  or  lowered  to  any 
depth,  as  the  possessor  may  see  fit." 

What  a  theory  to  advance!  A  soul  is  as  large 
in  a  child  as  it  ever  will  be.  The  soul  is  not  edu 
cated  and  cannot  be  taught.  The  soul  is  that 
subtle  feeling  that  permits  a  person  to  realize 
anything  that  is  beautiful,  grand  or  divine;  also 
causes  them  to  feel  sorrow  at  such  calamities  that 
may  come  under  their  observation.  Education 
does  not  develop  the  soul ;  it  develops  the  brain 
and  gives  the  tongue  words  to  tell  of  the  beauties 
that  the  soul  feels  and  sees.  You  will  often  find 
in  association  with  uneducated  persons  that  they 
have  ideas  that  are  grand,  but  lack  the  power  to 
express  them.  Again  you  will  find  persons  who 

10? 


KODAKS. 

fiave-  every  facility  to  familiarize  themselves 
with  what  are  considered  the  higher  branches  of 
mental  attainment  who  never  put  forward  any 
idea  that  is  grand,  never  express  a  word  of  rap 
ture  over  a  work  of  art,  never  show  a  semblance 
of  sorrow  over  other's  woes ;  and  still  a  de 
lineator  of  character  in  a  work  of  fiction  (verily 
it  is  fiction)  has  the  audacity  to  assert  that  a 
human  soul  is  originally  small  and  is  enlarged 
according  to  its  scope  of  observation. 


10* 


LIFE. 


Groping  for  knowledge  with  retentive  brain, 
Thirsting  for  pleasure  with    an    unconscious 
soul; 

A  child,  with  all  of  life  before, 

Is  not  unlike  a  glistening  lump  of  coal. 


The  teachings  first  impressed  upon  the  mind, 
That  guide  it  from  the  raw,  uncultured  state, 

Are  like  the  kindlings  that  ignite  the  coal 
When  first  'tis  placed  upon  the  grate. 


The  slender  tongues  of  fire,  lapping  at  its  sides, 
Receive  at  last  a  reward  for  their  zeal ; 

Blue  smoke  arising  from  the  mass, 

Seems  mourning  for  the  life  'tis  made  to  feeL 

109 


KODAKS. 

The  gas  within,  that  is  the  heart  and  soul, 
Sometimes  from  crevice  glows  with  sapphire 
hue, 

Then  fades  away,  like  passions  of  a  mortal, 
In  fitful  gleam  that  cannot  burn  anew. 


Bright  and  enticing,  like  the  walks  of  life, 
That  parch  the  frame  and  turn  dark   hair   to 
gray, 

The  fire  blazes  ever  toward  the  heart, 
And  slowly  eats  the  outer  wall  away. 


At  last  the  vital  spot  is  reached — 

The  zenith,  all  the  mass  a  living  coal, 

Knowledge  has  burned  out  every  hope, 

And  ashes  show,  to  life-long  toil,  the  goal. 


POET  AND  PHILOSOPHER. 


"Pa,  what  is  a  poet?" 

"A  poet,  my  son,  is  a  misguided  individual 
who  thinks  the  sun  would  forget  to  come  up  or 
go  down  if  he  didn't  explain  it." 

"Is  that  all  he  does?" 

"No,  my  son ;  he  sometimes  varies  the  monot 
ony  by  being  choked  to  death." 

"By  what?" 

"Sometimes  by  emotion  and  occasionally  by 
a  bone  of  contention." 

"That's  sad,  aint  it;  but  pa,  what's  a  philoso 
pher?" 

"A  philosopher,  my  son,  is  a  person  who  tells 
why  the  poet  died,  and  explains  how  he  could 
have  lived  a  long  time  if  he  had  avoided  skim 
milk  and  such  rich  food." 

"Does  he  do  anything  else,  pa?" 

"Oh,  yes ;  when  he  gets  to  be  an  old  man  he 
generally  takes  care  of  the  spotted  calves  at  the 
county  farm." 

111 


MADE  IN  GOD'S  IMAGE. 


The  earth,  rocked  on    the    bosom    of    limitless 
space, 

Cradled  to  sleep  'neath  the  twinkling  stars, 
Crooned  to  and  nursed  by  the  glittering  sun, 

Is  being  arrayed  for  the  pageant  of  war. 


Mankind  is  pursuing  the  planning  and  building 
Of  engines  to  kill,  of  schemes  to  decoy ; 

Each  night  and  each  day,  on  land  and  on  sea, 
Brings  forth  some  contrivance,  a  destroyer  to 
destroy. 


A  duel  of  nations  brings  to  the  surface 

Men  devoted  to  country,  to  honor,  to    home. 

Spurred  on  by  excitement,  the  weak  are  cour 
ageous, 
And  fight  to  the  death  for  a  coveted  bone. 

118 


KODAKS. 

Each  in  his  nest,  the  lap  of  a  nation, 

Born  at  the  hour  when  Babel  fell, 
Is  calling  the  muster,  and  donning  the  buckler,, 

To  summon  the  demons  from  deepest  hell. 

Demons  of  darkness  and  pillage  and  carnage, 
Reeking  with  blood,  o'erspattered  with  slime, 

Creep  from  their  hovels  of  pestilent  silence, 
To  revel  in  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  crime. 

Fever  and  famine  trail  in  the  wake, 

Left  by  an  army  to  victory  led; 
Some  there  are  cheering  for  glories  hard  gained  - 

Others  are  mourning  for  loved  ones  dead. 

Dead  in  the  trenches,  torn  by  some  missile, 
Sent  as  a  messenger  screaming  for  peace ; 

Dead  in  the  ocean,  gone  down  in  a  warship, 
The  tale  of  whose  prowess  never  will  cease. 

Man,  with  his  pratings,  called  reason  and  logic. 

Still  is  a  savage,  thirsting  for  gore ; 
Though  cloak  of  civilian  is  drawn  about  him, 

Heathen  he  is,  to  his  heart's  core. 

• 

List  to  him  fan  his  illusions  to  reason ; 
Look  at  him  writhe  with  impotent  rage; 

113 


KODAKS. 

Hark  to  him  rant  of  justice  and  mercy, 
Posing  the  while  as  a  seer  and  a  sage. 

Trims  he  the  beacon  of  thought   that    inspired 

him; 

Coddling  it  gently  to  warm  it  to  life; 
Coaxing  his  anger  with  incense  of  passion; 
Unleashing    his    tongue    in    a    harangue    for 
strife. 

Egotistic,  despotic,  selfish,  how  human- 
Sires  and  dams  of  the  furies  he  woos ; 

Raking  the  while  through  the  ashes  of  heroes, 
A  parallel  theorist  from  them  to  choose. 


1.14 


MISGUIDED  ENERGY. 


"Many  men  of  many  kinds,  many  men  of  many 
minds"  necessitates  the  corraling  on  one  earth 
or  in  one  country  or  on  one  island  or  in  one  city 
a  heterogeneous  assortment  of  men,  ranging  in 
ability  from  a  preacher  up  to  a  lawyer,  with  the 
space  between  filled  with  common  rogues,  like 
merchants,  doctors,  county  and  city  officials,  etc. 
It's  a  tough  sandwich,  for  whenever  anyone 
tries  to  bite  a  piece  out  of  it  they  generally  break 
a  jaw  or  loosen  up  a  few  teeth  in  the  attempt* 
and  then  quit.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  rev 
erend  gentlemen  who  have  got  the  Parkhurst 
habit  and  who  have  interested  themselves  in 
purifying  the  moral  atmosphere  of  western  cities 
have  discovered  that  California  has  a  national 
reputation  for  immorality.  It  is  certainly  news 
to  the  great  unwashed  to  learn  that  such  is  the 
case,  and  there  is  just  a  possibility  that  the  idea 
the  reverend  gentlemen  mean  to  convey  is  that 

115 


KODAKS. 

a  dead  sheep  in  San  Francisco  smells  worse  than 
if  it  were  in  New  York  or  Chicago].  It  is  glad 
dening  to  the  hearts  of  seekers  for  a  public  that 
is  pure  and  unsullied  to  learn  that  in  the  Eastern 
States  immorality  has  been  reduced  to  a  mini 
mum;  that  all  the  men  in  those  various  places 
have  ceased  to  sin,  even  with  their  eyes;  that  all 
the  women  are  models  of  virtue;  but  it  is  a 
source  of  wonder  how  the  newspapers  of  those 
States  discover  so  many  cases  of  depravity, 
especially  when  it  is  taken  into  consideration 
that  the  average  Easterner  will  not  share  any 
thing,  not  even  the  odor  of  a  dead  sheep.  It  is  a 
sign  of  progress  to  have  the  ministry  take  part  in 
matters  political,  for  they  can  assist  very  mater 
ially  in  educating  the  masses  to  the  old-fashioned 
idea  of  doing  right  for  the  sake  of  right,  if  they 
go  about  it  in  the  correct  way,  but  they  should 
remember  that  this  is  California,  the  grandesl 
State  of  the  Union;  a  State  that  is  picturesque; 
and  romantic  in  the  extreme,  and  the  bulk  of  the 
men  and  women  who  comprise  its  population  are 
warm-hearted,  impulsive  and  generous,  qualifi 
cations  that  can  be  possessed  without  depravity 
of  mind  or  action,  and  they  resent  the  instill  to 
their  good  name  embodied  in  the  reverend  gen 
tlemen's  conclusions  and  arguments. 

116 


KODAKS. 

There  are  poor  depraved  specimens  of  human 
ity  here  as  well  as  elsewhere;  there  always  have 
been  and  always  will  be.  Pastoral  influence  in 
the  proper  direction  will  materially  reduce  the 
percentage  of  evil-doers,  but  the  proper  direc 
tion  is  not  by  barking  over  the  heads  of  their* 
own  kind  in  a  hall,  but  in  the  highway  and  the 
byways,  a  word  of  counsel  and  a  helping  hand 
where  needed.  Such  actions  will  bring  lukewarm 
supporters  from  under  cover  who  will  join  the 
procession  and  help  the  good  work,  but  nothing 
will  be  gained  by  maligning  the  State  as  a  whole 
or  by  stirring  the  dead  sheep  with  a  stick  and 
then  hastening  away  from  the  odor,  shouting: 
"It  must  be  stopped;  it  is  offensive;  let  some 
brave  man  be  appointed  to  bury  it." 


in 


PAST  AND  PRESENT. 


To  those  who  teach  the  holy  word, 
And  love  to  tell  of  the  good  Lord, 
Whose  life  blood  ebbed  upon  the  tree 
That  crowned  the  Mount  of  Calvary, 
Who  died  that  mortals  might  live  on, 
WTith  hope  of  heaven  to  gird  their  loins ; 
And  who,  when  spreading  forth  his  creed, 
Gave  not  a  thought  to  worldly  greed, 
But  lived  the  simple  holy  life 
That  quells  the  turmoil,  soothes  the  strife — 
Whose  helpers  asked  but  bed  and  board — 
No  earthly  dross  they  sought  to  hoard. 
They  told  the  simple  homely  truth ; 
They  lived  and  proved  their  sterling  worth. 
Turn  from  the  picture  of  the  past, 
To  creeds  and  dogmas  of  to-day ; 
To  men  who  figure,  in  cold  blood, 
Will  saving  souls  of  mortals  pay? 
Who  think  of  comforts  that  money  brings, 
Who  clink  it  to  the  words  of  hymns, 
And  name  the  amount  that  they  require 
To  haul  a  soul  from  out  the  mire. 

us 


WONDERFUL 


I  once  heard  an  ex-resident  of  sunny  Mexico, 
who  was  still  a  trifle  shy  of  "English  as  she  am 
spoke,"  exclaim  in  a  burst  of  poetic  fancy,  "How 
wonderful  we  are  make,''  and  must  say  that  he 
diagnosed  the  case  correctly.  For  instance,  the 
plans  and  specifications  for  a  modern  upholster 
ed  female,  if  submitted  to  the  architect  of  the 
original  Eve,  would  cause  him  to  seek  the  seclu 
sion  of  his  factory  and  kick  himself  for  sawing 
off  a  framework  on  a  man  and  a  brother  that 
could  be  utilized  in  such  a  manner.  It  is  also  a 
question,  open  or  liable  to  argument,  after  the 
opportunities  he  has  had  to  observe  the  freedom 
of  speech,  with  variations,  also  without  varia 
tions,  used  by  the  feminine  race  in  daily  life,  as  to 
whether  he  would  make  them  tongue-tied  or  not 
furnish  any  tongue  at  all,  if  he  had  the  job  to  do 
over.  Of  course,  he  will  have  to  be  forgiven,  for 

119 


KODAKS. 

it  stands  to  reason  "he  knew  not  what  he  did," 
;any  more  than  Darius  Green  knew  what  he  was 
going  to  do  when  he  essayed  his  first  trip  with 
his  flying  machine,  only  Darius  did  his  own  ex 
perimenting,  and  the  mighty  genius  who  builded 
a  fair  woman  from  a  rib  deputized  someone  else 
to  take  the  risk  of  piloting  the  dear  creature 
through  this  earthly  paradise,  and,  like  unfortu 
nate  Darius,  striking  earth  occasionally  with  a 
resonant  chug. 

Don't  gather  from  the  foregoing  that  I  am  an 
impressionist  and  have  been  pressed  into  the  be 
lief  that  woman  has  the  right  and  title  to  all  the 
peculiarities  of  humanity.  She  has  neither  the 
right  nor  the  title  to  them.  Just  because  she  has 
taken  them  doesn't  prove  her  ownership  any 
more  than  Chairman  Jones'  assertion  that  Lo 
quacious  Bryan  would  be  the  next  President  of 
the  United  States  made  him  so. 

Ah,  but  that  man  Jones,  and  Willie,  Willie 
Bryan!  They  are  made  wonderful,  too.  Why, 
Willie  can  talk  as  much  as  a  woman,  and  another 
thing  in  his  favor,  he  can  say  as  much,  too ;  and 
Jones,  dear  Jones,  he  can  stick  to  his  opinions, 
just  like  a  woman,  when  it  has  been  proven  to, 
him  in  a  thousand  ways  and  nine  thousand  times 
that  he  is  wrong. 

120 


KODAKS. 

Another  wonderful  thing  is  the  Populist,  or  a 
Populist,  as  you  choose.  Learned  men  are  won 
dering  where  the  hybrid  sprung  from  and  what 
he  is  good  for.  They  differ  somewhat  as  to  the 
wherefrom  part,  but  are  unanimous  in  their  ver 
dict  that  he  is  good  for  nothing.  For  peculiari 
ties  of  construction  I  commend  you  to  a  ward 
politician.  If  the  mantle  of  Chief  Executive 
should  fall  on  his  shoulders  and  he  were  carry 
ing  the  world  around  on  his  back  he  couldn't  ap 
parently  be  endowed  with  graver  responsibilities, 
and  he  is  in  such  fear  of  the  enemy  overhearing 
his  deep-laid  schemes  that  he  accumulates  the 
habit,  even  if  he  meets  a  man  in  the  middle  of  a 
ten-acre  tract,  with  nothing  in  sight  but  a  soli 
tary  cabbagehead,  of  hauling  the  man  behind 
that  cabbagehead  to  tell  him  that  his  only  chance 
of  a  haven  in  the  beautiful  beyond  is  to  vote  for 
Busted  Boodle  for  Supervisor.  Even  then  he  is 
afraid  the  cabbagehead  will  talk. 

And  man — just  plain  man — is  wonderful.  The 
first  thing  he  learns  is  to  grasp.  His  tiny  red* 
hands  claw  the  air  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  grasp 
something  and  in  the  tender  age  of  babyhood  he 
lays  the  foundation  for  the  saying  that  a  man  is 
never  contented  only  when  his  appetite  is  satis 
fied.  He  keeps  on  grasping  in  a  graduated 


121 


KODAKS. 

course  from  rubber  rings,  marbles,  tops  pie, 
green  apples,  baseball  bats,  cigarettes,  education, 
up  to  other  people's  money,  and  in  the  end 
makes  a  final  grasp  for  breath. 

But  the  most  wonderful  of  all  is  woman — 
dear,  sweet,  lovable  woman.  There  is  only  one 
thing  that  is  any  more  wonderful  than  a  woman, 
and  that  is  another  woman. 


122 


A  FEMININE  HABIT. 


A  maiden  quite  fair, 

And  of  age  quite  uncertain, 
Sought,  by  aid  of  a  seer, 

To  peer  through  life's  curtain. 

The  seer,  keenly  conscious 
Of  the  maiden's  desire, 

Proved  the  opposite  sex 
To  be  consummate  liars. 

Then  she  took  him  to  task. 
Did  this  seeker  for  truth, 

For  dispelling  an  illusion, 
And  asked  for  more  proof. 

'I  see,"  said  the  seer, 
"You  are  like  woman  ever, 

You  seek  for  advice 

Do  you  take  it?    No,  never." 

128 


CREATION. 


There's  a  sort  of  fascination 

In  hatching  out  a  plot- 
Bringing  to  a  point  of  focus 

Something  that  has  happened  not. 

Picking  out  some  odd  example, 

Met  by  chance  upon  the  street, 
Clothing  it  with  idle  fancies, 
Till  it  seems  to  be  complete. 

Here  another,  there  a  couple, 
Wedge  in  at  the  proper  time, 

Soon  appears  a  common  novel, 
Sold  at  retail  for  a  dime. 


124 


JUST  LIFE;  THAIS'  ALL 

He  had    dabbled    somewhat    in    the    wonderful 

things, 

That  were  shown  him  day  by  day, 
And  was  prone  to  conclude,    like   the    average 

man, 
That  no  one  could  term  him  a  jay. 


One  day,  while  parading  a  business  highway, 
And  thinking,  the  thoughts  of  a  man, 

He  chanced  to  observe  a  wonderful  phiz 
Made  on  a  new  and  original  plan. 


At  least  that  is  what  his  judgment  discerned, 
And,  Hke  all  the  rest  of  his  race, 

He  followed  their  course  for  centuries  past, 
And  was  won  by  a  pretty  face. 


125 


KODAKS. 


The  fine  sunny  quarters  that  once  were  his  pride, 

With  everything  always  in  place, 
Took  appearance  like  unto  the  cell  of  a  monk — 

All  so  dull,  dark  and  commonplace. 


How  to  change  them?     Why,  yes,  an  excellent 
thought, 

He  would  ask  that  fair  creature  to  share 
His  ducats  and  all  his  available  wealth — 

Then  he'd  leave  that  old  bachelor's  lair. 


So  it  all  came  to  pass  in  due  course  of  time ; 

The  wedding  was  a  gilt-edge  affair, 
And  the  guests  who  assembled  to  view  the  sad 
rites 

Pronounced  them  a  bright,  handsome  pair. 


Five  years  have  elapsed,  as  shown  by  the  stars, 
And  a  man  going  home  looking  tired 

Has  a  ghost  of   resemblance    to    some   one   we 

know- 
Why,  of  course,  that's  the  man  we  admired. 

126 


KODAKS. 

The  hour  it  is  midnight;  let's  peep  at  the  door, 

And  see  who  it  is  lets  him  in; 
As  I  live,  it's  the  lady  he  told  that  day 

That  her  happiness  then  would  begin. 

She  certainly  looks,  and  looks  are  enough, 

That  happiness  to  her  was  rare; 
But  then  that's  the  way  of  the  world    and    the 
flesh— 

They  were  surely  a  bright,  handsome  pair. 


127 


FATE  OF  THE  SOUL. 


I  called  on  my  philosophical  friend  the  other 
evening  and  found  him  in  a  rather  peculiar 
humor.  He  was  in  a  communicative  mood  and 
regaled  me  with  some  of  his  impressions. 

"Do  you  hear  the  breeze  playing  an  aeolian 
cadence  on  the  wires  outside?  It  finds  an  echo 
in  that  inner  self  that  has  never  been  defined 
and  more  than  likely  its  story  will  never  be  told 
by  mortal  tongue.  My  senses  seem  benumbed 
and  my  body  seems  like  a  shell  of  tissue  with 
naught  but  the  heart  for  a  tenant,  and  that 
swinging  to  and  fro  like  the  pendulum  of  a  clock 
that  is  weary  of  its  work,  but  mechanically  beats 
the  seconds,  minutes  and  hours  away,  until  the 
reaper  in  his  gathering  of  the  wheat  and  weeds 
alike  stops  its  weary,  faltering  ticks  and  says 
that  it  shall  find  eternal  sleep  beneath  the  sod, 
that  opens  alike  to  rich  and  poor,  to  miser  and 

128 


KODAKS. 

spendthrift,  to  toiler  and  sluggard,  to  philoso 
pher  and  imbecile,  to  symbol  of  virtue  and  rake 
of  vice — all  can  claim  a  resting  place  in  mother 
earth.  And  its  surface,  when  restored  to  life,  will 
feel  the  breath  of  spring,  when  flowers  bloom 
and  grass  is  green,  will  know  the  zenith  of  their 
glory  when  bright  summer  changes  them  to. 
tawny  hue;  can  tell  of  autumn,  when  the  gleaner- 
gathers  the  sheaves  like  unto  the  angel  of  death 
as  he  replenishes  his  domain.  Then  comes  the 
winter,  when  the  wild  winds  and  beating  rain 
try  in  vain  to  force  through  the  sod,  but  they 
who  sleep  below  are  all  unconscious  of  the  pass 
ing  seasons  and  their  placid  rest  is  fit  reward 
for  the  battles  of  life  that  in  days  agone  have  rag 
ed  around  them.  And  the  soul,  that  turbulent 
spirit,  what  shall  be  its  fate?  Will  it  always, 
wander  through  space,  a  torment  to  self  and  a 
menace  to  others,  or  will  it  find  a  home  in  that 
beautiful  though  mythical  beyond,  that  refuge 
where  the  so-called  chosen  ones  shall  meet  to- 
sing  eternal  songs  of  praise,  or  will  it  be  a  wan 
dering  gust  of  wind  that  o'er  Ceylon's  isles, 
blows  soft  and  balmy,  o'er  Asia's  sands  burns, 
with  fire,  o'er  Artie  seas  freezes  with  the  chill 
of  death,  o'er  America's  fair  land  soothes  with 
the  breath  of  life  and  hope,  o'er  isthmus  carries. 

129 


KODAKS. 


pestilence  in  its  vapors?  Here,  there  and  every 
where.  At  times  a  restorer;  with  the  next 
breath  a  destroyer,  seeking  ever  for  variety,  and 
following  it  at  all  times  without  regard  to  wheth 
er  its  wake  is  strewn  with  joy  or  sorrow." 


i30 


HOPE. 


Hope's  promise,  like  the  breaking  of  the  morn, 
First  looks  on  inky  blackness  of  the  night, 

Flaked  o'er  the  canopy  with  glinted  diamonds, 
That  promise  give  of  future,  pure  and  bright. 


Then  grayish  shadows  float  above  the  mountain 

crest. 

Driving  the  stars  to  Heaven's  far-off  land, 
While  tinted  halos  mingle  with  the  gray. 

And  crimson  gleams  cause  darkness  to  dis 
band. 


Now  glistening  sun,  the  fire  of  universe, 
Creeps  slowly  o'er  the  hilltops,  far  away, 

Causes  chilled  nature  to  unfold  her  wings, 
And  to  the  world  is  born  another  day. 

131 


KODAiKS. 

Hope,  perched  upon  the  eyre  of  desire, 

With  fledgling  wings  unfrosted  by  old  time, 

Leaps  from  the  pinnacle,  every  vein  on  fire, 
To  win  the  laurels  of  a  life  sublime. 

Hope  may  not  long  for  earthly  wealth, 
Nor  all  roads  lead  to  ancient  Rome; 

There's  a  secret  hidden  in  the  heart  and  soul, 
That  always  sings  of  home,  sweet  home; 

Yet  does  seek  pleasure  of  the  fleeting  joys, 
That  find  abode  on  this  grim  earth ; 

This  wilderness  of  sin  and  flagrant  jest, 

Where  passions  grand  are  fund    for    jocund 
mirth. 

Too  soon  the  petals  of  the  rose 

Are  withered  by  the  flash  of  Satan's  fire; 

Too  soon  the  perfume,  dainty,  rare  and  pure, 
Is  faded  by  the  breath  of  gaunt  satire. 

Thus  Hope  has  combat  with  the  rugged  world, 
Which,  in  the  morn,  gave  promise  bright  and 
rare, 

But  ere  the  mantle  of  the  night  is  drawn, 

Has  knowledge  of  the  depths  of  pain  and  care. 


182 


CLEANSING  FIRES. 


The  science  of  chemistry  and  the  many  secrets 
of  the  crucible  are  ever  an  interesting  subject. 
Man's  life  and  efforts  could  be  likened  to  an  as 
say  of  quartz  to  determine  its  value.  When  first 
dumped  into  the  crucible  he  is  the  raw  product, 
or  the  natural  ore,  and  perhaps  the  theoretical 
education  he  has  obtained  may  show  a  cropping 
of  a  precious  metal.  As  the  fires  of  experience 
burn  faster  and  fiercer  the  baser  metals  or  quali 
ties  fade  away  in  smoke  and  gases  and  their 
residuum  shows  the  gold  and  merit  of  the  dross 
and  worthlessness  that  is  the  result  of  the  cleans 
ing  fires. 

The  best  result  of  a  man's  work  comes  after 
he  has  burned  out  the  theories  and  traditions 
that  were  handed  down  to  him,  when  he  has 
found  for  himself  that  experience  is  the  only 
teacher,  when  he  permits  his  mind  to  analyze  all 

138 


KODAKS. 


that  passes  before  him  and  to  select  the  gems  of 
thought  and  not  burden  himself  with  the  weight 
of  superstition  and  its  dogmas;  when  he  has 
learned  to  live  and  let  live.  When  this  is  ac 
complished  the  rancor  of  contention  goes  on 
around  him  and  he  is  ever  unfeeling  of  its  pres 
ence,  for  he  has  learned  the  lesson,  that  life  is 
too  short  to  be  made  a  continual  struggle  against 
fate,  and  happiness  lies  only  in  accepting  the 
beauties  and  in  shutting  the  eyes  to  the  imper 
fection  of  mankind  in  general. 


134 


TO  WHOM  IT  MAY  CONCERN. 


Some  say  that  love,  the  passion  that  imparts 
New  life  into  a  human  being's  heart, 

Is  something  that  the  will  can  sway, 

Or  force  to  do  as  it  may  say. 

And  others,  just  as  firm  in  their  belief. 
To  such  an  argument  are  blind  and  deaf ; 
They  say  'tis  like  a  fragrant  fragile  flower. 
And  must  be  kept  within  a  guarded  bower. 

To  save  a  discourse,  both  tiresome  and  long, 
Let's  say  that  both  are  right  and  both  are  wrong, 
But  if  you  wish  a  love  to  last  and  be  intense, 
Use  one-half  love  and  one-half  common  sense. 


135 


TWILIGHT. 


When  twilight  shadows  gather  near, 
And  turmoil  of  the  day  does  cease, 

The  war  and  tumult  within  self 

Is  calmed,  and  for  the  time  finds  peace. 

The  glow  of  crimson  on  the  sky, 

From  whence  the  orb  of  light  has  sank, 

Turns  to  dull  ashen,  fades  away, 
Like  life  of  man,  whate'er  his  rank. 

The  silhouette  of  mountain  range, 
Blends  with  the  wall  of  azure  sky, 

And  star  of  evening  twinkles  o'er 

The  place  where  day  has  said  goodbye. 


136 


ANTE  SLUMBER  SOLILOQUIES. 


Midnight.  The  air  sweet  and  balmy,  as  air 
can  be  only  in  California ;  the  lights  are  out,  save 
the  glimmer  of  a  street  lamp,  shining  through 
the  edge  of  a  curtain.  You  hear  the  rattle  of  a 
coupe  over  the  paved  street.  Occasionally  the 
footsteps  of  a  belated  pedestrian  are  heard,  some 
times  ringing  sharp  and  clear.  You  endeavor 
to  judge  from  the  sound  who  the  passerby  is 
and  what  kind  of  a  mood  he  is  in.  The  sharp, 
clear  footstep  has  youth,  and  a  large  unexplored 
future  before  it ;  the  shuffling  pace  is  the  lazy 
mortal  who  would  let  everyone  alone  if  he  were 
shown  the  same  distinction ;  the  dignified  tread 
is  the  limb  of  the  law,  as  he  pursues  his  calling; 
the  dragging,  listless  step  is  one  to  whom  am 
bition  is  a  dead  letter,  and  to  whom  Father  Time, 
with  his  combined  harvester,  would  be  a  wel 
come  vision.  All  of  these  pass  almost  uncon 
sciously  through  your  mind.  Then  you  forget 
them,  the  sounds  are  unnoticed,  the  incense- 
laden  air  brings  to  your  tired  brain  the  longed- 
for  languor,  and  Morpheus  reigns. 

137 


AS  LIFE  GOES. 


While  treading  down  the  narrow  lane 
That  sometimes  is  called  life, 

You  meet  a  motley  mass  of  souls, 
Mixed  up  in  din  and  strife. 

The  man  who  earns  his  daily  bread, 

By  sweat  of  manly  brow, 
Envies  the  man  who  works  his  head, 

And  wishes  he  knew  how. 

The  man  who  in  an  office  toils 
Throughout  the  livelong  day, 

Thinks  what  a  picnic  it  would  be 
To  cut  and  stack  some  hay. 

And  thus  they  jog  around  the  track, 
Each  thinking  that  the  other 

Has  comforts  in  his  role  of  life 
Without  the  other's  bother. 

138 


A  TRAMP  PHILOSOPHER, 


"Why  am  I  a  tramp?"  the  vagabond  said; 

"Well,  mister,  mayhap  I  were  better  dead. 
And  if  I  should  tell  you  the  reason  why 
You'd  think  the  version  were  all  a  lie. 

"But  once  on  a  time,  not  so  long  ago, 
I  lived  in  the  life  of  glitter  and  show, 
Struggling  along  in  the  rancor  and  strile 
That  fills  up  the  days  of  a  city  man's  life. 

"Knew  the  fatigue  of  trouble  and  care ; 

Saw  life's  fondest  hopes  dissolve  in  the  air; 
Found  that  success  I  could  never  attain, 
And  contentment  simply  a  castle  in  Spain. 

"I  took  to  the  road,  and  you  see  me  to-day 
Dirty  and  ragged,  but  blithe  and  gay. 


139 


KODAKS. 

Known  to  the  world  as  a  rascal  and  scamp, 
And  doomed  all  my  days  to  be  a  tramp. 

^Sometimes  I  regret  the  step  I  took, 
And  backward  glance,  with  hungering  look, 
To  the  time  when  I,  a  man  among  men, 
Gave  up  the  game  I  played  with  them. 

:'Only  for  a  moment  do  I  stand  and  gaze 
At  the  waste  and  wreck  of  bygone  days; 
They  had  their  uses — maybe  some  good — 
When  I,  now  a  tramp,  earned  a  livelihood. 

"I  live  in  the  present  and  have  not  a  care — 

I  wander  at  will,  no  matter  where ; 

Bumming  my  food  in  the  light  of  day, 
Sleeping  at  night  in  sweet-scented  hay. 

"It  fits  all  the  chinks  of  my  scraggy  frame ; 

Makes  me  forget  that  I'm  aged  and  lame; 
And  to  hope  that  whenever  I  pass  away, 
It  sdall  be  when  asleep  in  the  new  mown  hay." 


GRAND  OPERA. 


My  philosophical  friend  was  raised,  with 
various  other  things,  on  a  farm  in  "York"  State. 
He  is  a  trifle  secretive  about  the  time  when  he 
became  ripe  enough  to  market,  but  has  occasion 
ally  hinted  that  on  the  auspicious  occasion  he 
would  have  blended  very  harmoniously  with  a 
background  of  St.  Patrick's  day  flags.  However, 
if  such  were  the  case,  it  is  simply  a  page  of  his 
personal  history,  and  if  he  should  happen  to 
leave  a  million  dollars  behind  him  when  he 
boards  Charon's  ferry  boat  his  biographer*  will 
attend  to  recording  the  details  at  so  much  a  rec 
ord.  He  is  very  fond  of  an  opera,  especially 
what  is  termed  grand  opera,  and  when  the  sea 
son  is  at  hand  can  be  found  in  the  front  row 
with  the  rest  of  the  baldheads.  I  gently  intimated 
that  the  chorus  girls  were  usually  quite  attrac 
tive,  and  it  was  certainly  pleasant  to  have  their 

141 


KODAKS. 

bright  smiles  haunt  him  still.    He  shook  his  head 
and  said : 

"Guess  again.  No;  come  to  think  of  it,  you 
needn't  either,  for  you  couldn't  guess  in  a  week 
the  whys  and  wherefores  of  my  liking  for  opera. 
You  see,  it  is  this  way:  I've  paddled  my  canoe 
on  many  a  river  and  creek,  have  shot  some 
rapids,  and  once  or  twice  have  been  out  of  sight 
of  land  on  the  briny.  I've  observed  a  batch  of 
things,  real  or  otherwise,  on  these  excursions, 
but  away  down  deep  in  my  heart  is  a  memory 
of  the  old  farm.  It  wasn't  any  different  from 
the  old  farms  most  of  you  fellows  knew  in  your 
youth,  but  it  was  my  own  particular  old  farm, 
and  I  remember  it  so  well  that  I  can  shut  my 
eyes,  see  the  corn  field,  hear  the  wind  rustling 
through  the  leaves,  see  the  pumpkin  vines  crawl 
ing  everywhere  like  serpents,  and  what  bully 
whistles  you  could  make  of  the  stems  to  the 
leaves,  provided  you  rubbed  off  the  fuzz  so  it 
wouldn't  nettle  your  lips. 

"Of  course,  there's  another  side  to  that  corn 
field  story — -the  one  when,  with  about  six  inches 
of  snow  on  the  ground,  I  wralked  behind  the  wa 
gon  and  husked"  the  down  row,  but  that  don't 
count  in  this  narrative.  Then  there  was  a  field 
<5)f  wheat  and  one  of  rye,  another  of  red-top  and 

142 


KODAKS. 

clover,  and,  what  was  best  of  all,  the  medder  (as 
my  respected  granddad  called  it),  where  there 
was  a  grove  and  wild  crabapples  and  grapes  and 
elderberries,  for  popguns,  and  poison  ivy  for 
grief;  tree  moss,  for  all  the  world  like  a  minia 
ture  forest;  and  in  the  spring,  wild  flowers,  such 
as  Jack-in-the-pulpit,  Dutchmen's  breeches  and 
others  with  names  not  so  striking :  a  brook  that 
went  dry  in  the  summer  and  was  a  torrent  in  the 
spring;  an  old  chain  pump,  which  came  over 
with  Noah,  and  a  water  trough  that  seemed  to 
be  as  large  as  an  Erie  canal  boat  when  I  had  to 
pump  it  full  of  water.  Every  once  in  a  while 
the  handle  slipped  off,  hitting  me  on  the  ear,  just 
to  remind  me  that  I  wasn't  paying  attention  to 
business. 

''Then  there  were  tall  poplars,  where  it  was 
my  duty  and  pleasure  to  carve  my  name;  also 
that  of  a  spindle-shanked,  freckle-faced,  ging- 
ham-sunbonneted  little  torment  who  lived  on 
an  adjoining  farm.  But  excuse  me.  I  wander. 
What  I  intended  to  speak  about  was  the  chick 
ens.  At  that  time  I  didn't  consider  it  much  of 
an  honor  to  act  as  head  waiter  for  a  mixed  as 
semblage  of  barnyard  fowls,  and  don't  know  as 
I  do  yet,  for  all  the  time  I  was  feeding  them  I'd 
be  thinking  of  a  big  pickerel  I  saw  under  the 

143 


KODAKS. 

ice  breaker  down  at  the  bridge,  or  of  a  chipmunk 
I  was  going  to  drown  out  whenever  I  got  a 
chance,  or  wondering  if  I  could  chew  up  more 
green  gooseberries  without  making  a  face  than 
a  Dutch  boy  who  lived  across  the  road. 

"All  such  things  would  be  running  in  my 
head  while  I  was  watching  the  perform 
ances  of  those  chickens,  and  now  when  I  go  to 
the  opera  I  just  imagine  that  the  leader,  as  he 
picks  up  his  baton  and  gives  it  a  preliminary 
wave  in  the  air,  is  saying,  'Chick,  chick,  chick; 
come  chick,'  and  the  violins,  the  cello,  the  piano 
and  all  the  other  instruments  are  the  patter, 
swish  and  rustle  of  wings,  as  chicks,  large  and 
small,  chicks  squatty  and  tall,  come  scurrying 
from  all  directions  to  the  center  of  the  barnyard 
or  stage.  A  big  Shanghai  rooster  is  the  central 
figure.  He  struts  up  and  down,  pausing  before 
a  grain  of  corn,  directing  the  attention  of  a 
Dominicker  hen  to  the  kernel,  evidently  inviting 
her  to  partake,  at  the  last  moment  gobbling  it  up 
himself.  He  is  the  basso,  who  thumps  around 
the  stage  and  declares  himself,  in  tones  so  all 
may  hear,  to  be  lord  of  all  creation  and  a  few 
other  countries.  The  Dominicker  hen  is  the 
'female  woman'  he  is  ordering  to  go  tell  her  mis 
tress  that  if  she  don't  get  a  move  on  herself — 

144 


KODAKS. 

come  at  once  and  fall  on  his  bosom — he'll  kick 
her  bodyguard  over  into  the  next  county  and 
hang  his  rival  to  the  first  gas  lamp  he  discovers. 
Then  a  black   Spanish  rooster  comes   saunter 
ing  along,  not  making  much  noise,  but  gather 
ing  in  any  grains  that  lie  in  his  pathway,  until 
he  bumps  up  against  Mr.  Shanghai  accidentally- 
and  is  instantly  called  to  account.     This  black 
Spanish  is  a  pretty  bird  and  is  the  recipient  of 
many  admiring  glances  from  a  bevy    of    Buff 
Cochin  hens.    That's  the  tenor.    He  warbles  so- 
sweetly  that  Shanghai  concludes  it  wouldn't  do* 
to  assassinate  him  on  the  spot,  so  he  gives  him; 
a  show  for  his  life,  which  he  improves  by  hiding 
behind  the  Buff  Cochin  hens,  or  chorus  girls. 
These  are  brought  to  attention  by  a  game  roos 
ter,  who  comes   meandering  along  in  a  don't- 
care  sort  of  a  way,  his  head  bobbing  back  and: 
forth,  his  spurs  glistening,  and  an  altogether  de- 
liciously  villainous  look  in  his  eye.     He  is  the 
hero  of  the  narrative,  who  has  arrived  from  parts 
unknown ;  who  knows  a  Shanghai  at  a  glance, 
and  a  few  other  things.    His  rich  baritone  makes, 
the    ceiling    rattle,    and    the    Buff    Cochins,    or 
rather  chorus  girls,  catch  on  to  the  spirit  of  the^ 
thing  as  he  describes  the  splendors  of  a  feast  oil 
grub  worms  in  a  tomato  patch  and  promises  to 


141 


KODAKS. 

show  them  the  way.  About  this  time  a  silver- 
spangled  Hamburg  comes  trotting  up  to  the 
traveler,  and,  with  numerous  clucks,  signifies  her 
approval,  after  which  she  marches  off  by  the 
.side  of  his  highness,  the  Buff  Cochins  and  black 
Spanish  forming  a  bodyguard,  the  Plymouth 
Rocks  and  Leghorns  following,  with  Mr.  Shang 
hai  glad  to  follow  in  the  rear. 

"Now,  if  that  isn't  your  hero  and  heroine  of 
--opera,  with  their  retinue  of  retainers,  the  honest 
villagers,  glad  to  sit  around  and  holler  and  drink 
beer  or  brown  ale  whenever  the  occasion  offers, 
and  the  bull-dozing  tyrant,  who  always  gets  it 
in  the  neck,  who  asks  for  everything  and  takes 
anything,  why,  I've  been  doing  the  philosophi 
cal  act  all  these  years  in  vain.  But,  as  I  was 
about  to  say,  the  reason  I  like  grand  opera  is  be 
cause  it  reminds  me  of  chickens  in  a  barnyard, 
not  so  much  because  the  singers  look  like  chick 
ens,  but  because  they  act  like  them;  they  remind 
me  of  my  early  days,  when  I  was  head  waiter, 
chef  and  general  utility  man  to  a  flock  of  them. 

"And  being  reminded  of  them,  reminds  me  of 
the  old  oaken  bucket,  the  striped  chipmunks, 
who  escaped  drowning  only  to  be  clubbed  into 
'the  beautiful  beyond  ;  the  bumble  bees,  that  often 
me  as  I  robbed  them  of  their  honey  and 

us 


KODAKS. 

put  it  into  cups  made  from  acorn  hulls,  and  many 
other  things  that  made  life  on  a  farm  'down  East' 
interesting,  including  the  spindle-shanked,  freck 
le-faced,  gingham-sunbonneted  girl,  whose 
name  I  carved  at  the  very  top  of  every  poplar 
tree  on  the  place." 


147 


AN  EVER  PRESENT  SHOW. 


Did  you  ever  watch  two  lovers, 

And  jot  down  the  many  ways 
They  make  vows  of  pure  affection 

To  last  for  countless  days? 
Very  much  like  pigs  in  clover, 

Are  their  notions  vague  of  life, 
For  they  munch  the  fragrant  blossoms 

Without  thought  of  coming  strife, 
Or  of  any  of  those  failings 

That  are  classed  as  mortal  ills — 
Sure  to  crop  out  in  the  future, 

Mixed  up  with  a  batch  of  bills. 
Kisses  sweet  as  rose  of  Sharon, 

From  each  other's  lips  they  sip, 
While  they  vow  that  life  will  ever 

Be  a  sweet  sunshiny  trip. 
They,  of  course,  have  heard  of  people, 

Who  by  mating  made  an  error, 


KODAKS. 

But  their  bland  faith  in  each  other 

Robs  the  future  of  such  terror  ; 
Builds  a  cottage  on  the  hillside, 

Where  birds  sing  and  flowers  bloom, 
Where  coal  grows  in  chilly  winter 

And  sweet  outing  gowns  in  June ; 
Where  the  grocer  and  the  baker 

Leave  their  wares  and  never  say : 
"Pay  your  bill,  or,  by  the  holies 

I'll  not  come  another  day." 
Where  the  doctor,  with  his  pill  box, 

Or  a  nurse  of  ample  girth, 
Never,  never'll  chance  to  visit, 

For  of  sickness  there'll  be  dearth. 
Never  will  the  chills  and  fever 

Knock  upon  the  cottage  door, 
And  when  it  comes  to  dimpled  cherubs- 

Not  to  have  them  they  have  swore. 
By  and  by  they  join  their  fortunes, 

Then  ensues  a  wedding  trip, 
And  the  wealth  of  osculation 

Is  enough  to  sink  a  ship. 
They  arrive  back  home  quite  happy, 

And  begin  to  hoe  the  row- 
That  is  looked  on  with  suspicion 

By  bald-headed  men  I  know, 
Who  maintain  the  row  grows  longer, 


149 


KODAKS. 

And  the  strain  of  life  intense, 
That  there's  naught  but  close  acquaintance 

Will  reveal  a  lack  of  sense; 
That  a  woman  is  a  creature 

Far  too  fair  to  ever  wed, 
And  a  man  a  soulless  villain — 

Never  good  till  he  is  dead. 


150 


LIFE'S  DAY. 


A  day,  with  its  changes  of  light  and  shade, 

Is  like  the  life  of  man  or  maid — 

The  morning  so  sweet  and  calm  and  pure — 
Like  the  little  child  that  must  live  and  endure. 


The  midday,  when  nature  seems  to  rest, 

Like  the  middle  of  life  when  on  the  crest 

Of  a  wave  of  powrer  or  mount  of  woe. 

The  mortal  gazes  on  valley  below — 


Back  on  the  road  o'er  which  he  came, 
That  may  be  spread  with  flowers  of  fame, 
But  oftentimes  'tis  a  path  of  thorns. 
Marking  a  struggle  since  he  was  born. 

Forward  is  the  road  he  now7  must  go, 
Stretching  aw-ay  toward  the  sunset  glow, 

151 


KODAKS. 


And  he  thinks  as  he    starts    the    downward 

grade 
Of  a  peaceful  rest  in  the  everglade. 


The  evening  has  come  and  the  sun  has  sank, 
Like  man  must  sink,  no  matter  what  rank, 
The  shadows  gathering  to  solemn  gloom, 
Wrap  their  sombre  mantle  around  his  tomb. 


152 


A  LIBEL 


A  San  Francisco  paper  printed  what  purport 
ed  to  be  the  latest  photograph  of  Prince  Bis 
marck.  According  to  the  pose  the  artist  must 
have  induced  him  to  try  and  look  at  something 
about  four  years  back  without  turning  around 
to  do  so.  Imagine,  if  you  can,  the  iron  chancel 
lor,  whose  commands  have  swayed  the  world, 
posing  for  a  picture  in  a  position  adapted  to  a 
soubrette  winking  at  gallery  gods.  Just  think 
of  that  old  soldier,  who  had  more  dignity  than 
all  the  crowned  heads  lumped  together,  affect 
ing  the  position  of  a  sixteen-year-old  school 
girl,  who  would  like  distant  relatives  to  believe 
she  was  just  as  roguish  and  vivacious  as  possi 
ble,  and  wore  her  head  on  one  side  like  a  meadow- 
lark  on  a  rail  fence,  watching  a  boy  with  a  gun. 
Maybe  the  photo  is  bona  fide,  but  I  doubt  it, 
and  hope  to  never  have  the  doubt  removed,  for 
Bismarck,  with  his  fifty  years  of  continuous  serv- 

158 


KODAKS. 

ice  to  his  country,  is  a  man  to  be  classed  with 
Washington  and  Lincoln,  and  it  is  not  likely 
that  in  his  eightieth  year  he  would  turn  giddy 
and  let  an  artist  pose  him  in  such  manner  as  to 
suggest  a  crooked-necked  squash. 


1R4 


A  VAGARY. 


One  day  a  fancy,  strong  of  limb  and  girth, 
Seized  and  'neath  a  fountain  plunged  me — 

A  fountain  filled  with  wild  creations,  fraught 
With  menace,  that  to  frailties  would  a  curse 
be. 


As  fantasies,  so  wild  with  angry  pleading, 
Foamed  o'er  a  wraith  of  discontent. 

The  creature  held  within  their  grasp 

Was  prone  to  raise  his  voice  in  wild  lament 


What  is  the  world,  with  all  its  tenantry. 

That  gifts  of  nature  have  disused; 
Who  temples  build  in  wilderness  of  sin 

To  mock  God's  creatures    whom    they    have 
abused? 


155 


KODAKS. 

What  is  the  sun  that  lights  and  warms  the  world, 
Yea,  gilds  with  glorious  presence  all  the  land? 

Some  think  'tis  but  the  sire  of  furies, 

That  seek  to  fetter  us  with  endless  bands. 

What  are  the  hopes,  that  in  a  shifting  brain, 

Try  ever  to  escape  their  bounds, 
To  leap  into  the  spectral  future  far, 

Yet  feel  the  scourge  of  ever-present  hounds? 

What  are  the  loves  that  burn  within  the  heart, 
To  sear  it  with  an  all-consuming  fire? 

While  ever  on  the  merry  music  rings, 

Picked  from  the  strings  of    weird,    seductive 
lyre. 

What  is  the  end  that  waits  for  all  who  come, 
Who  enter  in  the  lists  of  love  and.  strife? 

Ask  ye  the  fountain,  as  it  bubbles  on, 
To  tell  to  you  the  secret  of  this  life. 

This  life,  who  says  'tis  all  we  have  to  live? 

Is  this  the  goal  of  love  and  hate  and  pride? 
Is  this  the  end  of  all  the  joy  and  pain;. 

No  soul  to  triumph  when  the  clay  has  died? 


156 


ORIGIN  OF  A  MINISTER. 


The  voices  from  the  pulpit  are  heard  far  and 
near  and  the  supposition  to  be  drawn  from  some 
minister's  remarks  is  that  expounders  of  the 
gospel  were  first  created  and  their  stock  in  trade, 
man  and  his  follies,  were  an  after  consideration. 
If  we  assume  the  theory  of  creation  to  be  cor 
rect  it  is  proof  positive  that  the  minister  was  the 
after  consideration,  and  while  he  may  have  been 
a  piece  of  God's  handiwork,  he  may  also  have 
been  a  natural  result.  That  is,  the  feelings  that 
permeate  the  mind  of  most  men  to  in  some  way 
be  a  director  of  the  balance  of  the  universe  may 
have  budded  in  the  mind  of  some  of  our  ancestors 
and  when  the  bud  blossomed  the  result  was  a 
minister.  This  may  be  wrong,  and  without 
doubt  a  great  many  arguments  could  be  brought 
forward  to  prove  the  statement  to  be  incorrect. 
Still  an  argument,  be  it  ever  so  good,  is  not 
necessarily  a  fact;  it  is  a  theory.  A  minister  is 
a  fact.  You  cannot  make  a  tangible  object  out 
of  a  theory.  Therefore  it  stands  to  reason  that 
you  cannot  make  a  minister  out  of  an  argument. 

157 


A  BACK  NUMBER  DUDE. 


He  has  a  few  peculiarities 
Besides  the  ones  I'll  mention, 

But  only  those  that  show  the  most 
I'll  call  to  your  attention. 

Sometimes  he  is  a  widower, 

With  just  an  only  child ; 
Sometimes  he  is  an  ancient  duck, 
Still  thinking  that  he's  wild. 

Sometimes  he  is  a  minister, 

Who  likes  a  little  fun; 
Sometimes  he  is  a  worthless  cuss, 

And  nothing  but  a  bum. 

In  one  way  fhey  are  all  alike, 
In  others  they  may  vary; 

Each  thinks  himself  a  special  prize 
For  some  sweet  damsel  \vary. 

158 


KODAKS. 

Xo  matter  if  his  face  is  red, 

And  features  that's  termed  homely, 
With  bandy  legs,  plus  pigeon  toes, 

And  form  that's  far  from  comely — 

He'll  dance  attendance  on  the  girls 

At  any  day  or  hour ; 
Blow  in  his  cash  in  manner  rash, 

Until  the  sweet  things  sour — 

Or  shake  him  for  a  younger  chap — 

A  man  about  the  town — 
Whose  whiskers  do  not  gently  shade 

From  black  to  dirty  brown. 

If  you  should  meet  one  of  that  kind, 

In  sunshine  or  in  rain, 
You'll  find  he's  wearing  a  disguise. 

Or  else  girl  on  the  brain. 

For  no  one  but  an  ancient  rake — 
One  of  those  would-be  friskers— 

WTas  ever  known  to  think  it  helped 
His  looks  to  dve  his  whiskers. 


ENVIRONMENT. 


Tolstoi  comments  on  the  lack  of  happiness  a 
banker  finds  shaving  notes  and  claims  a  janitor's 
comfort  to  be  far  in  excess  of  the  banker's.  He 
should  have  continued  and  said  that  a  man  is 
happy  according  to  his  own  idea  of  himself.  The 
man  who  by  force  of  circumstances  is  a  banker 
will  be  wonderfully  happy  unless  he  labors  un 
der  the  delusion  that  he  would  prefer  being  a 
railroad  magnate  and  happen  to  be  short  some  of 
the  capital.  A  janitor  will  be  a  trifle  happier  than 
a  banker  unless  he  thinks  he  would  prefer  being 
a  policeman  and  lacks  the  pull. 

The  question  of  a  man's  happiness  depends 
entirely  on  self  knowledge  that  he  is  filling  the 
niche  he  should  fill,  with  determination  and 
enough  self  respect  to  prevent  retrograding  and 
desire,  not  a  betterment  of  the  existing  order  of 
things,  but  rather  a  continuance  of  present  bless- 

m 


KODAKS. 

ings.    Whenever  a  man  accumulates  a  hankering- 
to  be  that  which  he  is  not  his  troubles  begin  and 
magnify  in  intensity  as  long  as  the  privilege  of" 
breath  is  granted  him.    Lengthening  his  span  of" 
years  and  granting  him  a  fulfillment  of  his  de 
sire  would  not  soothe  him,  for  the  habit  once  ac 
quired  is  as  difficult  to  shake  as  it  is  for  a  minis 
ter  to  mix  politics  with  religion  and  not  make  ai 
mess  of  both. 


INDEPENDENCE    DAY. 


"Over  the  sun-kissed  Occident 

Flashes  a  paean  of  joy  and  praise, 
Tribute  to  those  who  in  the  past, 

Shattered  the  fetters  that  made  them  slaves. 

Cast  off  the  yoke  that  bowed  them  down 
To  whim  and  fancy  of  a  royal  crown; 

Made  all  men  equal  and  free  to  pursue 
A  search  for  happiness,  pure  and  true. 

! 

Proclaimed  themselves  and  their  country  dear, 
In  a  way  so  all  the  world  should  hear, 

As  a  home  for  those  by  monarchs  oppressed, 
Who  longed  for  a  haven  of  refuge  and  rest. 

Wise  in  the  council  that  prompted  the  move, 
Brave  in  their  deeds  of  daring  and  love, 


KODAKS. 

Steadfast  in  forcing  the  cause  to  an  end— 
They  gave  their  heart's  blood  to  protect  and 
defend. 

When  in  the  end  they  grand  freedom  attained, 
They  wasted  no  time  o'er  the  victory  gained, 

But  turned  from  the  sword  to  the  ploughshare 

and  pen. 
To  develop  the  resources  God  granted  them — 

Resource  of  continent,  bounded  by  ocean, 
Swept  by  the  breath  of  life-giving  breeze; 

Saved  from  the  world,  apart  from  all  nations, 
For  people  to  live  and  do  as  they  please. 

Destiny  marked  the  path  o'er  the  ocean 

That  led  to  this  mecca  of  unbounded  wealth; 

Watched  o'er  the  Pilgrims  in  pious  devotion, 
And  sheltered  them  from  the    wild    savages' 
stealth. 

Gave  to  their  frames  the  strength  of  endurance, 
Gave  to  their  minds  the  courage  to  brave 

The  terrors  of  war,  its  ills  and  hardships, 

To    cast    from    their    ankles    the    shackles    of 
slaves. 

163 


KODAKS. 

Look  ye  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  nation, 
Over  the  boundless  valley  and  plain, 

Carpeted  with  grasses,  silvered  by  rivers 
Flowing  from  font  in  the  mountain  ravine. 

Mountains  that  seem  like  sentinels,  guarding 
The  wealth  that  is  spread  over  vista  between, 

Crowned  as  they  are  by  that  symbol  of  virtue. 
Snow  of  the  heavens,  pure  and  serene ; 

Mountain  slopes  covered  with  expanse  of  forest, 
Ribbed  by  canyons  where  cooling  springs 
gleam, 

Veined  with  white  quartz,  in  minerals  abounding, 
Waiting  for  hand  of  mortal  to  glean. 

Harbors  that  naught  in  the  world  can  compare 
with, 

Sheltered  by  cliffs  from  the  wide  main, 
Easy  of  access  by  broad  and  deep  channels, 

Egress  of  rivers  that  traverse  the  plain. 

Great  inland  lakes,  as  large  as  the  monarchy 
That  sought  in  the  past  to  rule  our  domain, 

Are  simply  a  dot  on  the  face  of  this  country, 
That's  ringing  with  praise    for    freedom    at 
tained. 

104 


KODAKS. 

Picturesque  canyons,  torn  in  the  mountains, 
Tell  of  the  struggle  when  volcanoes  stormed 

Ages  ago,  when  they  reared  the  structures 
That  now,  clothed  with  life,  show  beauteous 
form. 

Bright     plumaged     songsters    ring    their    glad 

carols, 
In  the  green  glades,  where  the  sweet  flowers 

bloom. 

Bringing  to  mortals  a  gleam  of  contentment — 
vScenting  the  air  with  dainty  perfume. 

Men  of  all  nations  are  gathered  around  us, 
Sharing  the  fruits  of  the  land  and  the  sea. 

Inhaling  the  breath  of  personal  freedom — 
Thinking  and  acting  their  own  decree; 

Worshipping  God  as  their  fathers  before  them 
Thought  was  the  way  to  heavenly  joy; 

Finding  the  motto  of  nil  desperandum, 
In  a  fulfillment  without  alloy. 

Ever  shall  this  nation  stand  out  in  relief, 
As  taking  firm  stand  in  freedom's  belief; 

Knowing  no  master,  having  no  slave, 

Land  of  the  free  and  home  of  the  brave. 

165 


KODAKS. 


Ever  shall  our  emblem,  the  star-spangled  banner, 
Wave  to  the  breeze,  commanding  respect; 

Ever  shall  we,  in  memory  and  manner, 

Give  honor  to  those  who  gave  life  to  protect. 


166 


IF  THE  SHOE  FITS,  WEAR  IT. 


It  was  a  cosy  sitting  room,  that  ordinarily 
would  cheer  the  eye  and  bring  a  feeling  of  peace 
and  contentment,  but  on  this  occasion  large 
chunks  of  gloom  were  visible  to  the'  naked  eye. 
The  lady  of  the  house  was  the  masterpiece  of 
despair,  while  her  devoted  husband  and  a  few 
sympathetic  friends  were  lesser  lights  of  calam 
ity,  who  endeavored  with  kindly  words  of  hope 
and  a  handkerchief  to  check  the  tears  that  welled 
from  her  large  red  eyes.  But  their  labor  was  all 
in  vain.  She  moaned,  groaned,  wept,  shrieked 
and  called  for  Johnnie.  "Johnnie,  oh,  Johnnie, 
my  darling!  I  know  that  you  are  dead.  Why, 
oh  why.  did  I  talk  cross  to  you  this  morning? 
Let  me  go,  I  say:  I'm  going  to  find  him. 
Mamma's  darling  baby ;  he's  at  the  bottom  of  the 
river;  I  know  he  is.  Dear  little  fellow;  always 
so  kind.  Oh  God,  why  have  you  taken  my 
boy?" 

"Cheer  up.  madam;  your  son  may  show  up 
soon.     There  is  no  need  of  your  worrying  until 

161 


KODAKS. 

;you  have  reason  to  believe  that  misfortune  has 
overtaken  him." 

"Don't  raise  a  false  hope  in  my  bosom.  I 
will  never  again  see  his  -ruddy  face,  his  bright 
•eyes,  his  mischievous  smile ;  and  I  misjudged 
my  darling  so  often.  If  he  only  had  his  little, 
life  to  live  over  again  what  would  I  not  do  for 
him?  They'll  be  bringing  my  treasure  home  all 
wet  and  cold ;  cold  in  the  chill  of  death." 

The  unhappy,  sorrowing  woman  buried  her 
head  on  the  sofa  cushions  in  a  wild  paroxysm  of 
grief.  There  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  room. 
Every  heart  ached  with  sorrow  for  the  poor 
mother,  as  they  tried  in  vain  to  comfort  her. 

Bang  went  the  front  door.  Clump,  clump, 
came  a  pair  of  sturdy  feet  through  the  hall,  and 
above  it  all  sounded  a  shrill  whistle,  wrestling 
with  the  intricacies  of  "Ma  Angeline."  A  ten- 
year-old  boy,  carrying  a  puppy  by  the  scruff  of 
the  neck  with  one  hand  and  a  baseball  bat  in  the 
other,  entered  the  room. 

"Hello!  What's  the  row?  Say,  ma,  see  my 
dawg;  what  d'yer  think  of  him?  Aint  he  a  bird? 
Dog  catcher  gave  'im  to  me ;  said  I  could  keep 
him  if  I  wanted  ter,  and  I  guess  yes,  I  want." 

The  sorrowing  mother  had  arisen  from  the 
sofa.  She  stared  at  her  offspring  for  a  few  sec- 


KODAKS. 

onds  until  the  floodgates  of  her  word  mill  could 
be  turned  loose,  and  then  she  swooped  down  on 
him. 

"Johnnie  Jones,  where  have  you  been?" 

"Nowheres  much." 

"Don't  you  dare  to  say  nowheres  to  me.  I've 
worried  my  life  out  about  you,  thinking  you 
were  drowned  or  lost  or  something  awful.  Come 
here  this  instant.  Take  that  (cuff)  and  that 
(cuff  and  more  cuffs  in  rapid  succession  until  the 
hopeful  had  a  genuine  case  of  grief).  You 
scare  me  again,  will  you?  You  little  scamp,  I've 
a  good  mind  to  thrash  you  within  an  inch  of  your 
life.  You  go  to  bed  now  without  your  supper. 
I'll  teach  you !  You  ungrateful  little  wretch." 

The  friends  took  their  departure  and  all  ex 
pressed  their  delight  that  Johnnie  was  alive  and 
well ;  and  Mrs.  Jones,  she  was  glad,  too,  and 
said  so,  and  thanked  them  over  and  over  again 
for  their  afd  and  sympathy.  Then  she  returned 
to  her  novel  and  her  husband  and  thanked  God 
and  herself  that  her  darling  was  safe,  while  up 
stairs  in  his  little  bed  the  boy  was  sobbing  with 
grief  and  pain,  and  thinking  over  and  over  again : 
"The  man  gave  me  the  nice  puppy  and  I  played 
with  him  and  just  forgot  that  I  ought  to  go 
home." 


DADDY'S  HOME. 


When  the  sun  at  eve  is  setting, 

And  the  bees  have  ceased  their  drone, 
Babies  gather  at  the  gateway 

To  greet  daddy,  coming  home ; 
Joyous,  merry  little  faces, 

Close  against  the  pickets  pressed — 
They  are  longing  for  the  footsteps 

Of  the  man  that  they  love  best. 


All  day  long  he  has  been  toiling, 

And  he's  weary,  every  bone, 
But  his  task  seems  light  and  easy 

At  the  thought  of  going  home ; 
Going  home  to  wife  and  babies — 

Who  wouldn't  toil,  such  bliss  to  own? 
And  there's  naught  but  peace  and  comfort 

In  the  thought  of  going  home. 

170 


KODAKS. 

There  he  comes.    Out  on  the  sidewalk 

Dash  the  babes,  with  laugh  and  shout. 
All  of  them  want  to  be  carried — 

Daddy  is  so  big  and  stout. 
So  he  folds  his  arms  around  them, 

Carries  them  up  into  the  home, 
And  the  wife's  sweet  face  beside  them 

Fills  the  picture — Daddy's  home. 


171 


EGOTiSM. 


About  the  most  amusing  thing  on  earth  is  the 
effect  of  the  sectarian  paper  or  the  political  pa 
per  in  a  household  that  champions  the  cause 
espoused  in  the  journal  and  would  not  have  the 
corrupting  organ  of  the  opposition  on  the  prem 
ises,  let  alone  peruse  it.  Supreme  with  the  ad 
vocate  of  the  idol  of  their  dogmas  that  waves  in 
cense  toward  an  uncrowned  king,  their  imagina 
tion  dances  vividly  to  the  tune  of  the  offerings 
in  print  and  their  memory  retains  the  telling 
points  founded  upon  the  theoretical  creations  of 
a  theorist,  which  they  propound  in  a  most  sol 
emn  manner  as  the  ultimate  result  of  what  to 
them  is  the  reasoning  of  a  superior  intellect  that 
can  and  will  accomplish  wonderful  and  pre 
sumptuous  phenomenon.  Life  is  all  too  brief  to 
correct  these  individuals  of  their  too  compact 
ness  of  idea,  and  the  suggestion  of  a  wedge  of 

172 


KODAKS. 

knowledge  in  the  shape  of  the  literature  of  their 
supposed  enemy,  that  is  in  reality  the  guardian 
that  enables  them  to  retain  their  tenure  on  the 
fruits  of  existence,  would  be  treated  with  scorn 
as  an  emanation  of  ignorance  from  the  brain  of 
a  scoffer,  and  the  suggestor  would  be  warned  of 
the  pitfalls  in  his  spiritual  or  political  path  as 
outlined  by  he  of  the  one  principle,  one  road, 
one  gate,  controlled  and  operated  by  the  ir«a 
hand  of  fate. 


17S 


WHILE  IT  RAINS. 


The  goose  comes  in  on  the  northwest  gale, 

While  it  rains,  it  rains,  it  rains ; 
Hie  nimrod  now  tells  remarkable  tales, 

While  it  rains,  it  rains,  it  rains. 

The  tramp  now  is  mourning  and  oftimes  repents, 

While  it  rains,  it  rains,  it  rains — 
Of  hard-earned  dollars  he  cheerfully  spent — 

While  it  rains,  it  rains,  it  rains. 

The  hayseed  is  gearing  his  old  gang  plow, 

While  it  rains,  it  rains,  it  rains ; 
And  thinking  that  work  now  begins  "by  swow," 

While  it  rains,  it  rains,  it  rains. 

The  predictor  of  weather  is  happy,  I  know, 

While  it  rains,  it  rains,  it  rains — 
To  think  that  this  time  his  word  was  a  go, 

For  it  rains,  it  rains,  it  rains. 

174 


EVOLUTION. 


March  seventeenth  is  the  day  set  apart  by 
those  who  were  fortunate  enough  to  get  away 
from  Ireland  to  celebrate  the  event.  This  is  not 
quite  as  important  a  day  as  the  anniversary  of  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  but  ranks  close 
enough  to  inspire  young  America  with  the  idea 
that  Ireland  is  a  country  filled  with  good  cheer, 
harps  and  sentiment — principally  sentiment.  An 
Irishman  has  more  sentiment  to  the  square  inch 
than  any  other  known  being.  It  is  of  the 
variegated  breed  and  always  adapts  itself  to 
climatic  conditions,  being  able  to  blow  cold  or 
hot,  as  the  occasion  requires.  It  is  this  peculiar 
adaptability  that  has  done  so  much  to  shatter 
faith  in  the  genuineness  of  the  tears  that  are  said 
to  never  dry  up  in  an  Irishman,  for  investigation 
has  proven  quite  often  that  his  old  Irish  home 
was  a  place  of  misery  and  hardship,  and  he  bears 

175 


KODAKS. 

the  separation  from  it  with  wonderful  fortitude 
when  it  is  taken  into  consideration  the  small 
amount  of  money  it  would  require  to  carry  him 
back  there.  The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  it 
will  take  about  a  thousand  years  of  American 
freedom  to  teach  him  the  proper  way  to  appre 
ciate  the  benefits  accruing  from  a  Republican 
form  of  government,  but  there  is  a  lurking  fear 
that  long  before  the  thousand  years  are  up  the 
government  of  this  Republic  will  be  entirely 
Irish  and  a  lovely  chance  to  watch  the  intricate 
process  of  evolution  will  be  lost. 


17t 


HIS  HONOR. 


(With  apologies  to  Longfellow.) 

Beside  a  country  turnpike, 

The  Fair  Oaks'  Courthouse  stands; 
The  judge,  a  mighty  man  is  he, 

His  height  is  fifteen  hands, 
And  the  muscles  of  his  honor's  jaw 

Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

His  hair  is  crisp  and  black  and  short, 
His  face  sometimes  is  tanned ; 

His  brow  with  sweat  is  often  wet, 
He  earns  just  all  he  can, 

As  he  looks  a  culprit  in  the  face 
To  see  how  much  he'll  pan. 

Week  in,  week  out,  when  duty  calls, 

You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow; 
You  can  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  tread, 

17T 


KODAKS. 


With  measured  tread  and  slow, 
As  he  drifts  out  to  his  grist  mill 
To  start  his  morning  show. 


And  children,  going  down  town  to  school, 

Look  in  at  the  open  door ; 
They  love  to  see  the  massive  judge 

And  hear  his  honor  roar, 
And  catch  the  melody  of  his  voice 

That  leaks  out  through  the  door. 


-He  goes  on  Sunday  for  a  stroll, 
And  meets  some  of  the  boys ; 

He  hears  them  spin  the  latest  yarns, 
They  hear  his  mellow  voice 

O'er-topping  their  stories  just  one  notch, 
And  it  makes  their  hearts  rejoice. 


Listening,   meditating,   sentencing — 

Onward  through  life  he  goes; 
Each  morning  sees  some  case  begun, 

Each  evening  sees  it  close; 
For  the  judge  must  keep  his  docket  clean, 

Though  he  thrives  by  others'  woes. 

178 


KODAKS. 

Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  my  worthy  friend. 
For  the  lessons  thou  hast  taught, 

To  those  who  in  your  justice  shop 
Against  their  will  were  brought. 

To  explain  unto  your  honor,  % 

Why  mischief  they  had  wrought. 


179 


HONESTY. 


"Pa,  what  is  honesty?" 

"Honesty,  my  son,  is  a  noble  qualification 
that  prevents  a  man  from  defrauding  or  in  any 
way  injuring  his  fellow  men." 

"Is  it  used  much,  pa?" 

"Yes,  my  son;  it  is  almost  used  up." 

"Where  do  you  think  I  could  find  some,  pa?" 

"About  as  good  a  place  as  I  know  of  is  a  ceme 
tery." 

"But  aren't  people  gone  forever  that  are  in  a 
cemetery?" 

"Yes,  my  son;  but  the  virtues  and  honesty 
still  remain — on  their  tombstones.  When  you 
get  a  little  older  you  can  take  a  market  basket 
and  go  out  and  pick  some." 


ONE  OF  MANY. 


Did  you  ever  meet  the  man  who  has  peculiari 
ties  and  is  aware  of  the  fact?  He  will  tell  you 
with  a  kind  of  aren't-you-surprised-sort-of-look 
on  his  face,  "I  only  eat  three  meals  a  day.  Just 
think  of  it !  And  really  I  go  to  bed  every  night 
and  actually  breathe  right  along  all  the  time,  too ; 
and,  for  a  fact,  sir,  I  never  read  editorials.  Oh, 
I  know  it  startles  you,  but  you  mustn't  mind 
me.  I'm  peculiar  about  some  things,  I  am." 


181 


SUNSET  ON  DIABLO. 


Diablo,  mount  with  satanic  name, 
Towering  like  sentinel  across  the  fertile  plain, 
Dazzles  with  splendor  from  the  crimson  light, 
Shed  by  Old  Sol,  while  fading  from  our  sight. 

As  shining  day  turns  to  the  solemn  night, 
A  beauteous  scene  is  shed  by  fading  light ; 
A  crimson  flood  bathes  mountain  top  in  flame, 
Reflects  its  silhouette  across  the  plain. 

A  vagrant  cloud,  now  hanging  o'er  the  crest, 
Turns  from  gray  vapor  to  a  jeweled  nest, 
Fit  for  the  goddess  of  eternal  love, 
Could  she  be  tempted  from  her  home  above. 

The  shadows  gather  on  mountain  and  on  plain, 
A  cooling  breath  is  wafted  from  the  main ; 
The  silvered  river  onward  gently  flows, 
While  in  the  heavens  shines  the  after  glow. 

Shading  from  crimson  to  a  dainty  pink, 
The  dying  sunbeams  slowly  fade  and  sink ; 
The  stars  gleam  brightly  in  the  azure  sky — 
Another  day  has  gone  and  said  goodbye. 

182 


A  DOUBLE  SHUFFLE. 


A  young  couple  in  San  Francisco  braved 
paternal  wrath,  were  married  and  ten  hours  later 
they  were  cold  in  death  from  self-inflicted 
wounds.  Funerals  are  expensive,  and  generally 
speaking,  undesirable  affairs,  but  if  the  burden 
of  a  decent  burial  is  not  too  heavy  for  the  near 
and  dear  relatives  to  discharge  the  obligation, 
without  hardship,  the  action  of  the  young  people 
may  be  considered  as  commendable,  for  they  de 
parted  this  life  in  a  rainbow-hued  state  of  mind 
that  can  only  be  equalled  by  a  parallel  case.  They 
wanted  each  other  and  the  desire  was  accen 
tuated  by  parental  interference.  They  got  each 
other  and  spited  the  old  folks.  Wrapped  in  each 
others  arms  they  concluded  to  bid  farewell  to 
the  cruel  world  and  spend  the  years  of  eternity 
in  the  realms  of  paradise,  and  probably  are  now 
gamboling  on  the  golden  streets  and  cracking: 

183 


KODAKS. 

castanets  and  jokes  with  St.  Peter  about  the 
"way  they  "done"  the  old  folks.  It  surprises  me 
to  know  that  young  people,  basking  in  the  sun 
shine  of  an  overdose  of  thrills,  should  desire  to 
shuffle  off  at  such  an  early  stage  of  the  game.  If 
they  had  played  an  eight  or  ten  years'  engage 
ment  and  taken  a  few  youngsters  through  the 
category  of  infantile  maladies  and  should  be 
brought  to  a  realization  that  the  end  was  not  yet, 
a  tragedic  finale  would  be  considered  a  profitable 
swap  for  probable  calamities.  But  the  deed  is 
done  and  one  couple,  at  least,  are  spared  the 
mortification  of  finding  out,  sooner  or  later,  that 
neither  is  infallible,  and  both  are  mortal. 


184 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  SPINNING  WHEEL 


I've  spun  many  a  mile  of  yarn, 
That's  been  woven  into  clothes, 

Worn  by  people  now  in  glory — 
At  least  I  will  so  suppose. 

Now  I'm  asked  to  spin  a  story, 
And  I  don't  quite  like  the  task, 

For  Fm  old  and  gray  from  spinning, 
But  I'll  spin  this  for  the  last. 

Observe  my  sturdy  frame  of  oak. 
And  see — of  three  legs  I  can  boast ; 

These  mean  the  holy  trinity 

Of  Father,  Son  and  Holy  Ghost. 

My  wheel,  like  time,  has  not  an  end, 
And  band  that  runs  around  its  rim; 


KODAKS. 

Like  life,  is  bound  to  snap  in  twain 
When  age  has  worn  it  old  and  thin. 

Now,  let  me  speak  about  my  head. 

You  see  that  it  is  lined  with  steel, 
And,  like  the  crank  of  modern  times, 

Within  it  runs  a  little  wheel. 


My  head  of  steel,  my  heart  of  oak, 
My  wheel,  that  never  knew  an  end, 

Have  been  in  service  all  my  life — 
I've  always  been  a  faithful  friend. 

I've  seen  the  roses  fade  from  cheeks 

For  many  generations  past ; 
Seen  sorrow's  cup  drained  to  the  dregs ; 

Seen  happiness  too  great  to  last. 

To  think  of  what  I've  seen  and  heard 

Unstrings  me — makes  me  pause  and  reel, 

For  after  all,  I'm  nothing  else 

But  an  old-fashioned  spinning  wheel. 


166 


HISTORIC  SETTLERS. 


The  year  1895  wiH  be  remembered  long  as  the 
year  in  which  so  many  aged  citizens  were  report 
ed  as  living  in  various  portions  of  the  country, 
Not  wishing  to  be  thought  ignorant  on  the  lo 
cation  and  affidavit  age  of  at  least  one  of  the  old 
boys,  I  have  made  careful  search  in  the  country 
adjacent  to  Stockton  and  have  discovered  a  man 
who  remembers  perfectly  the  time  Columbus  lo 
cated  Chicago  and  appointed  George  Washing 
ton  as  consul  of  same,  to  hold  in  trust  for  Pull 
man,  who  would  not  be  over  until  his  youngest 
son,  who  was  rather  a  delicate  child,  got  through 
teething.  One  thing  in  particular  that  vividly 
impressed  the  scene  on  his  mind  was  Chris 
joshing  George  about  the  propensity  of  the 
Americans  of  that  period  to  baldheadedness,  and 
George,  standing  up  bravely  for  the  climate  and 
laying  the  blame  on  the  inhabitants. 


187 


A  MEMORY. 


Through  the  haze  of  recollection 
Comes  the  scent  of  clover  bloom, 

Wafted  from  a  grassy  meadow 
In  the  pleasant  days  of  June. 

And  an  old  red  house  that  nestled 

In  a  grove  of  maple  trees — 
Seems  as  though  I  hear  them  waving 

In  the  perfume-laden  breeze. 

And  a  lilac  bush  that  shaded 
One  end  of  the  quaint  old  house, 

I  can  see  the  dewdrops  sparkling 
On  the  blossom-laden  boughs. 

Then  those  sweet  old-fashioned  flowers- 
Verbenas,  tulips,  geraniums,  flox — 

188 


KODAKS. 

Growing  in  such  wild  profusion 
'Round  the  borders  of  the  walks. 


Bees  are  droning  in  the  clover, 
And  upon  an  old  rail  fence 

Is  a  little  streaked  chipmunk 
Scampering  in  his   merriment. 

Birds  are  singing  in  the  woodland, 
Where  Jack-in-the-Pulpit  blooms- 

Everything  is  joy  and  gladness 
In  the  pleasant  days  of  June. 


CURIOSITY. 


Elisha  Gray,  inventor  of  the  teleautograph, 
asserts  that  "man  is  such  an  imperfect  organism 
that  it  is  difficult  for  him  to  comprehend  even 
the  simpler  mysteries  of  nature."  He  also  states 
that  many  things  are  happening  all  around  him 
which  he  does  not  see  or  hear.  I  thoroughly 
concur  with  Lishe  in  all  these  statements,  al 
though  our  reasoning  to  arrive  at  the  same  con 
clusion  may  vary  a  trifle.  But  what  matters  the 
method  as  long  as  the  result  is  the  same?  How 
ever,  I  go  a  trifle  further  than  Elisha  and  say, 
Why  should  man  fathom  the  mysteries  of  nature? 
Man,  in  his  natural  state,  is  an  animal,  with  ani 
mal  instincts,  and  man,  in  his  educated  state, 
retains  these  instincts,  which  are  the  gratification 
of  his  five  senses.  If  he  is  a  barbarian  and  has 
vices  extraordinary,  his  fellow-barbarians  kill 
turn;  if  he  is  civilized  and  has  vices,  they  are 

190 


KODAKS. 

glossed  over  by  the  polish  of  education,  and  he 
is  not  only  tolerated  but  courted.  A  brain  that 
could  retain  a  knowledge  of  one  per  cent,  of  the 
sayings  and  doings  of  the  world  has  never  been 
cast,  and  if  it  should  ever  be  cast,  the  owner 
ihereof  could  never  hope  to  live  long  enough 
for  the  shifting  scene  to  pass  before  him.  Hence 
why  should  nature,  that  struggled  along  for 
countless  centuries  without  the  aid  of  man,  be 
asked  to  yield  her  secrets  to  his  vulgar  curiosity? 
If  permitted  to  understand  even  an  iota  of 
nature's  methods,  he  would  attempt  to  remodel 
them  according  to  his  own  ideas.  Then  why 
not  abandon  the  idea  and  content  himself  with 
preying  on  his  fellow-creatures,  one  upon  the 
other,  and  reserving  nature  for  a  playground — a 
something  to  be  admired  and  enjoyed,  but  not  to 
be  pried  into,  for  many  a  casket  supposed  to  hold 
priceless  treasures  has,  when  broken  into,  been 
found  to  contain  nothing  but  a  skeleton?  Elisha's 
remark  about  not  seeing  and  hearing  a  great 
many  things  that  are  around  him  is  very  true. 
Think  of  a  man  trying  to  cross  a  street  with  a 
cable-car  coming  from  each  direction,  a  half 
dozen  wagons  jogging  along  at  different  speeds, 
a  Salvation  Army  band  playing  on  the  corner, 
and  a  few  other  rackets,  endeavoring  to  see  and 


191 


KODAKS. 

hear  all  that  was  going  on.  Yes,  and  think  of  one 
who  would  want  to  see  and  hear  it  all.  If  you 
know  of  such  a  one,  buy  and  send  him  to  Lishe* 
to  practice  on,  thereby  endearing  yourself  to 
Elisha ;  also  endearing  yourself  to  the  individual's 
neighbors,  who  certainly  should  be  pleased  to  be 
rid  of  a  man  having  a  patent  right  on  so  much 
curiosity. 


192 


A  MOOD. 


When  winds  of  winter  whistle  round  the  eaves, 
While   raindrops   splash   against  the  window- 
panes, 

Who  does  not  not  love  to  sit  by  cosy  fire, 
With  fancy  running  riot  with  loose  reins? 


The  panorama  of  the  world  is  shown  to  view — 
The  forms  of  all  the  continents  of  earth, 

Writh  waves  of  ocean  frothing  at  their  sides, 
And  sparkling  rivers  that  entwine  their  girth 


Great  caps  of  snow  in  land  of  midnight  sun, 
Streaked  with  reflections  of  Borealis'  gleam, 

Where  squatty  Esquimaux,  in  huts  of  ice, 

Are  happy  with  their  own  cold  storage  scheme. 

193 


KODAKS. 

Land  of  the  tropics;  where  the  orb  of  day 
Beats  down  with  sensuous  and  torrid  glare 

On  jungles,  where  the  vegetation  rank 

For  beast  and  serpent  forms  a  welcome  lair. 

Islands  of  all  nations,  dotted  here  and  there, 
Cropping  from  out  the  mass  of  billowing  blue 

Like  specks — or,  rather,  any  hills  of  the. sea — 
Each  showing  some  new  phase  or  hue. 

Between  the  great  extremes  of  heat  and  cold, 

In  setting  of  the  stage  of  real  life, 
Some  sections  teeming  with  the  fruits  of  peace 

And  others  struggling  with  want  and  strife. 


'This  is  the  spot  where  longest  fancy  lingers ; 

For  here  are  puppets  that  the  mind  can  call 
Who  for  a  time  have  place  in  public  note 

Ere  wrealth  or  wisdom  totters  and  they  fall. 


Each  city,  reeking  with  its  load  of  life, 

Who  tread  their  way  beneath  its  lofty  spires, 

for  an  instant  to  the  eye  of  mind 
Their   views,    their   hopes,    and    still    unfilled 
desires. 

194 


KODAKS. 

The  ocean  steamers  battling  with  storm-tossed 
sea. 

The  railroad  tracks  like  cobwebs  o'er  the  land, 
With  birds  of  passage  flitting  here  and  there, 

Whose  lives  are  in  the  hollow  of  God's  hand. 


Brought  closely  to  the  eye,  the  scene  reveals 
Each  mortal  struggling  for  self  alone — 

No  matter  what  the  color,  garb  or  calling, 
Without  respect  to  any  rule  or  zone. 


This  is  the  world,  and  this  is  life, 

Viewed  at  a  glance  in  retrospective  mood. 

[f  any  doubt  they  toil  for  self  alone 

'Tis  self  alone  thev  have  misunderstood. 


195 


A  MELODY  OF  LONG  AGO. 


There's  a  dear  old  peal  of  melody 

Still  ringing  in  my  ears, 
Though  time  has  rolled  into  the  past 

More  than  a  score  of  years. 

The  strain  brings  back  to  memory 

A  wide,  clear,  rippling  stream; 
On  its  grassy  bank  I  loved  to  lay 

And  watch  the  clouds  and  dream. 

Great  masses  of  white  went  sailing  by 

O'er  the  canopy  of  azure  hue, 
Jostling  together,  then  drifting  apart, 

Like  leaving  old  friends  for  new. 

The  air  was  scented  with  dainty  perfume 

From  wild  flowers  in  shady  dell, 
While  borne  on  the  breath  of  a  summer  breeze 

Was  the  sound  of  the  village  bells. 

196 


KODAKS. 


Clanging  away  in  the  distant  spires. 
Large  ones  and  small  ones  and  all, 

The  rich,  the  poor,  the  outcast  and  beggar 
To  the  worship  of  God  they  call. 

But  distance  softened  the  brazen  clang, 
And  when  it  had  reached  my  ears 

An  anthem  of  praise  was  graven  therein 
That  has  lasted  all  these  years. 

I've  heard  the  hymns  of  eternal  praise, 
With  accompaniment  of  organ  grand ; 

Have  heard  the  airs  of  our  nation  free 
Rendered  by  world-wide  famous  band — 

Have  listened  to  singers  of  great  renown, 
When  tears  to  my  eyes  would  well — 

But  sweeter  by  far  was  the  summer  morn, 
With  the  chime  of  the  village  bells. 


197 


PHILOSOPHY. 


The  "Nothing-too-tough-to-tackle"  Debating 
Society  at  their  last  session  wrestled  with  the 
question,  "Is  a  philosopher  a  necessary  evil?" 
No  verdict  was  reached,  as  most  of  the  members 
claimed  to  lack  knowledge  of  the  requisites  for  a 
full-fledged  philosopher  of  the  modern  era. 
Those  who  had  the  affirmative  side  had  compiled 
their  informaton  from  the  life  of  Socrates  and  a 
few  of  those  pioneers  who  persisted  that  a  wagon 
wheel  could  travel  on  smooth  ground  as  well  as 
in  a  rut,  and  were  ruled  out  of  order  as  being  a 
long  way  behind  the  times.  The  sustainers  of  the 
negative  theory  were  willing  to  admit  that  a  gen 
uine,  simon-pure  philosopher  would  be  a  handy 
thing  to  have  in  the  community,  but  asserted  that 
there  hadn't  been  but  one  born  during  the  last 
century;  that  he  was  apprenticed  to  a  clergyman 
and  expired  in  convulsions  when  he  discovered 
the  actual  limit  of  his  philosophications. 

Mr.  Talkary,  in  the  course  of  his  remarks, 
said :  "The  trouble  with  the  average  philosopher 


KODAKS. 

of  this  era  is  that  he  possesses  peculiarities  and 
insists  on  certain  regularities  of  habit  that  are 
not  compatible  with  philosophy.  It  is  no  trick 
at  all  for  a  well-fed,  well-clothed  man  to  specify 
a  plan  whereby  men  and  women  could  be  com 
fortable  and  happy.  He  has  a  supreme  contempt 
for  the  sentimental  idiosyncrasies  of  humanity  in 
general;  sometimes  because  he  does  not  pos 
sess  a  spot  in  his  heart  and  soul  that  is  suscepti 
ble  to  color,  but  more  often  because  he  has  a 
surfeit  of  pleasures.  Age  is  a  great  promoter  of 
philosophy,  so  it  is  not  proper  for  a  man  to  claim 
as  a  virtue  something  that  is  simply  a  non-desire. 
Your  true  philosopher  is  the  one  who,  with  his 
belly  sticking  to  his  back  from  lack  of  food,  his 
shoulder-blades  and  knees  cropping  out  of  tat 
tered  garments,  whose  vitality  is  sapped  by  dis 
ease  and  whose  heart  is  aching  for  just  a  few 
loving  words  of  comfort,  stretches  out  his  hands 
and  tells  his  hearers  that  while  life  seems  to  be  a 
troubled  sea  it  is  in  reality  a  haven  of  beauteous 
rest;  that  if  happiness  were  placed  in  one  scale 
and  sorrow  in  the  other  there  could  be  no  doubt 
of  happiness  being  the  'dominating  force.  That 
is  philosophy,  and  an  expounder  of  such  philos 
ophy  would  leave  a  name  to  be  remembered  long, 
and  a  lesson  that  would  be  remembered  not 
at  all." 


POMPOSITY'S  SOLILOQUY  IN  THE  GRAVEYARD. 


An  old-time  friend  of  Pomposity's  went  the 
way  of  all  flesh,  and  a  mutual  friend  asked  him  if 
he  was  going  to  attend  the  funeral.  "No,  sir;  not 
much.  I  will  not  go  to  a  funeral.  It's  bad 
enough  for  me  to  know  that  some  time  I  have  got 
to  go  to  my  own,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  reminded 
of  it  and  made  blue  by  uncanny  thoughts  of  the 
tomb,  let  alone  the  possible  evils  of  futurity.  And 
there's  another  thing,  too.  I  can't  go  out  to  the 
cemetery  without  getting  mad — madder  than 
blazes.  I  walk  through  the  city  of  the  dead  and 
see  a  nice  tombstone  over  a  man  who  owed  me 
seven  hundred  dollars.  Over  there  a  monument 
— the  son-of-a-gun  under  it  skipped  out  for  the 
hereafter  and  I  held  his  paper  for  two  thousand. 
Down  yonder  a  vault;  the  marble  clay  that  re 
poses  within  left  me  mourning  to  the  tune  of 
thirty-five  hundred;  and  so  on.  I  think  I've  got 

200 


KODAKS. 

about  thirty  or  forty  thousand  dollars  reposing 
under  the  daisies,  and  I  tell  you  what,  I'm  not 
going  to  arouse  my  ire  so  that  it  will  compel  me 
to  journey  into  the  next  world  to  try  and  collect 
that  money." 


THE  LANE  OF  LIFE. 

Canto  the  First 

A  babe,  first  seeing  light  of  day, 

Makes  lusty  clamor  at  the  sight  and  scene — 
Mourns  till  cradled  in  a  mother's  arms, 

When  clothed  and  nursed  it  slumbers  all  se 
rene. 

No  will  of  self  did  ever  give  it  birth. 

'Twas  but  a  turn  of  fortune's  wheel 
That  gave  it  life  and  lungs  and  hunger 

And  dormant  passion  it  must  sometime  feel. 

From   swaddling   clothes   and   crawling  on  the 
floor 

It  reaches  kilts  and  a  desire  to  walk. 
Finding  encouragement  in  these  old  arts, 

Soon  it  has  learned  to  pout  and  talk. 

m 


KODAKi. 

A  kindergarten  gives  the  rudiments, 

When  kilts  are  changed  for  knickers,  and 
joy 

Is  seen  displayed  in  the  new  garb — 
The  baby  now  has  grown  to  be  a  boy. 


A  boy  who  goes  to  school  and  everywhere 
That  every  other  boy  has  gone  before ; 

Who  learns  to  whistle,  dance  and  swear — 
Who  never  has  too  much  to  ask  for  more. 


He  fancies  baseball,  boating,  guns. 
Of  course,  he  has  to  have  a  bike. 

And  almost  every  game  that's  known 
He  has  a  penchant  for  and  likes. 

His  boyish  troubles  vanish  like  the  mist 

That  hovers  o'er  the  meadow  in  the  morn; 

He  may  be  angry,  but  he  cannot  make  it  las* 
No  more  than  he  could  help  his  being  bora. 

From  school  to  college.    The  momentous  stef» 
Changes  the  tenor  of  his  heart  and  frame; 

He  longs  for  knowledge  and  for  power 
Upon  the  scroll  of  fame  to  carve  his 

203 


KODAKS. 

Some  damsel  fair  now  mingles  with  his  dreams — 
A  creature  whom  he  loves  and  longs  to  wed — 

She  worries  him  throughout  the  livelong  day ; 
All  other  thoughts  are  driven  frWi  his  head. 

She  must  be  his.    He'd  roam  the  world 

To  lay  its  treasures  at  her  feet, 
Only  his  bright  collegiate  course 

Lacks  some  two  years  of  being  quite  complete. 

These  are  the  days  when  lagging  time 
Is  thorn  that  pierces  deep  his  side, 

Though  he  will  learn  ere  many  years 
How  fast  the  days  can  by  him  glide. 

Those  college  days,  those  golden  hours, 
When  he  has  thought  the  road  so  wide, 

With  friends  drawn  up  in  double  tiers 
To  do  him  honor  as  a  nation's  pride — 

They  pass  away  and  seem  a  dream, 
When  looking  backward  he  has  read 

The  funeral  of  his  hopes  and  loves 
And  of  the  girl  he  didn't  wed. 

He  carves  his  way  like  other  men 
In  some  allotted  walk  of  life, 

204 


KODAKS. 

Where  business  ventures  cool  his  blood 
By  keeping  him  in  constant  strife. 

He's  found  another  girl  who  fits 
A  place  within  his  heart  and  soul — 

Who  spurs  him  on  to  brilliant  deeds, 
Helps  him  to  win  his  fame  and  goal. 

Thus  he  has  blindly  paved  the  way 

For  sorrow  that  must  come  to  all 
Who  make  an  idol  of  the  clay 

That  must  make  answer  when  the  Master  calls. 

He's  gathered  cares  that  haunt  and  jeer 
Or  grimace  while  his  feet  they  trip; 

That  gloat  with  joy  when  some  loved  cup 
Slips  from  his  grasp  when  almost  to  his  lip. 

He's  past  his  prime.    The  downward  path 
That  leads,  as  all  roads  lead — to  death — 

Lies  straight  ahead.  'He  cannot  swerve, 
Nor  can  he  call  one  wasted  breath. 

He  sees  his  hopes  fade  one  by  one, 
Though  here  and  there  a  flashing  ray 

Just  for  a  moment  lights  his  path, 
And  seems  the  Ruler's  hand  to  stay. 

205 


KODAKS. 

The  struggles  o'er,  he  knows  the  worst — 
Knows  that  his  work  on  earth  is  done ; 

Learns  that  the  time  has  come  to  die 
When  love  of  life  has  just  begun. 


Could  he  hut  start  in  life  anew, 

With  knowledge  gained  and  stored  away, 
What  power  he'd  have  to  beck  and  call 

To  hold  the  world  and  make  it  sway. 


Such  strange,  wild  longings  fill  his  heart, 
That  from  his  fate  he  fain  would  flee, 

But,  failing  there,  turns  to  the  One 
Who  gave  him  life  with  its  decree. 


Barker  and  darker  grow  the  days, 
The  pride  to  rule  or  ruin  wanes, 

Till  kindly  spirits  calm  his  woes 
And  soothe  the  rancor  in  his  veins. 


The  calm  of  peace  steals  o'er  his  brow ; 

His  wrinkled  hands  have  idle  grown- 
Never  again  will  passion  thrill, 

For  God  has  called  his  spirit  home. 

206 


KODAKfl. 
Canto  the  Second. 

The  power  that  rules  this  universe, 
That  placed  man  in  His  image  here, 

Has  method,  born  of  judgment  rare, 

Which  guides  his  step  from  cradle  to  the  bier. 

He  places  follies  where  they'll  tempt, 
Yet  form  a  guard  to  point  the  way 

So  none  need  falter  at  their  task 
Or  from  the  path  be  led  astray. 

These  guide-boards  oft  are  lost  to  sight 
By  man,  who,  hurrying  to  a  goal, 

Forgets  the  light  of  love  and  day- 
Forgets  he  does  not  own  his  soul. 

A  soul  that's  tortured,  tempted,  tried, 
In  ways  most  hard  to  comprehend — 

Which  knows  its  weakness  all  too  well 
And  many  times  will  sway  and  bend. 

Some  careful  plan  has  come  to  naught; 

Courage  has  oozed  from  out  his  finger-tips ; 
Some  cup  of  joy  was -dashed  to  earth 

When  draught  had  all  but  passed  his  lips. 

20* 


KODAK& 

What  can  he  do?    "Begin  his  life  anew" 
Is  what  the  looker-on  would  calmly  say, 

Not  counting  what  the  loss  has  cost 

Or  that  the  man,  mayhap,  has  had  his  day. 

All  have  a  day,  and  some  have  two  or  more — 
The  hero  royal  never  knows  defeat; 

He'll  trim  his  barque  upon  another  course 
And,  smiling,  say,  "The  charm  of  life  is  sweet/' 

He  takes  a  pattern  from  the  years  that  glide 
And  finds  a  lesson  in  the  shifting  scene — 

The  garb  of  spring,  the  summer's  glow, 
The  autumn  harvest  and  the  winter  keen. 

No  matter  what  one  year  has  brought, 

Though  it  be  scourged  by  pestilence  and  flame, 

A  new  one  calmly  takes  its  place, 

Leaving  the  old  a  simple  page  of  fame. 

Pages  of  fame  are  sometimes  pleasant  tales 
Of  those  who  rollicked  on  the  crest  of  power — 

Those  whom  some  stroke  of  fortune  made 
The  showy  heroes  of  the  passing  hour. 

A  new  year  is  a  scroll  all  pure  and  fair, 
Unmarred  by  deed  of  brain  or  brawn — 

208 


KODAKS. 

A  curtain  rising  like  the  sun, 

Tinting  the  landscape  with  the  rosy  dawn. 

Showing  a  future  all  wide  and  unexplored, 
Waiting  for  man  to  scribe  upon  the  page 

The  deeds  that  proclaim  for  the  hour 

The  greatest  hero  and  the  greatest  sage. 

More  unknown  heroes  grace  a  silent  tomb 

Than    e'er    found    herald    to    proclaim    their 
worth  ; 

More  unknown  heroes  walk  the  world  to-day 
Than  known  ones  hidden  in  the  silent  earth. 

Canto  the  Third. 

Grave  Censor  who  proscribes  the  ways  of  life, 
From  blade  of  grass  to  wisest  of  the  seers. 

Has  recourse  oftentimes  to  subtle  art 
To  light  a  pathway  or  allay  a  fear. 

So  guarded  is  the  whispering  voice, 

Almost    unheard     amongst     the     slumbering; 

bowers, 
That  listener  ensconced  amidst  the  bloom 

Thinks  'tis  a  breeze  but  murmuring  through* 
the  flowers. 

209 


KODAKS. 

The  rippling  stream  or  mountain  cataract 
That  thunders  through  a  dark  ravine 

-Knows  naught  of  law,  yea,  has  no  care, 
So  sparkles  on  with  merry,  joyous  paean. 

Serene  in  ignorance  of  fate  that  waits 
Upon  some  dim  and  distant  shore, 

Where  silvery  rivers  leaving  wooded  hills 
Are  merged  within  the  breakers'  sullen  roar. 


Yea,  lost.    Their  life  blood  mingles  with  the  tide ; 

Rolls  in  and  out  upon  the  yellow  sands, 
'Or  mingles  with  some  wayward  current 
And  strays  to  kiss  the  shores  of  other  lands. 


Bright-hearted   Sol,  who  warms  the  heart  and 
soul. 

Peers  down  upon  the  ocean's  foam, 
Plucks  from  the  billow's  emerald  crest 

The  shattered  mist  and  claims  it  as  his  own. 


Long  rays  of  light  stream  from  the  orb  of  fire, 
Spread  like  a  fan  of  texture  frail  and  fair; 

But  each  has  set  for  it  a  task, 

And  for  the  mist  of  ocean  forms  a  stair. 


KODAKS. 

Upward  they  climb,  beyond  the  mountain  top, 
Until  they  halt  and  form  heroic  stand. 

As  though  they  feared  the  Heavenly  power 
And  dared  not  lose  the  sight  of  sea  and  land. 

Each  day  adds  to  their  banded  strength. 
Until  at  last  their  sinew  seems  so  strong, 

They  scorn  the  hand  of  Sol  who  holds  them  there 
And  wonder  they  have  owned  him  King  so 
long. 

The  fleecy  mass,  nursed  by  the  wraith  of  hate, 

Changes  to  sombre,  dismal  hue; 
Grim  mutterings  drown  all  peaceful  overtures, 

While    flashing    satire    pierces    through    and 
through. 

At  war  with  selves,  they  reck  not  of  their  path ; 

In  wild  confusion  flee  from  unknown  foe. 
Till  scattered  on  the  earth  they  lie. 

Once  more  to  swell  a  streamlet's  cheery  flow. 

Again  they  sparkle  in  the  light  of  day— 
Again  they  bubble  through  the  leafy  dells. 

Knowing  new  joy  at  seeing  olden  scenes. 
Hearing  again  the  sound  of  wedding  bells. 

211 


KODAKS. 


Sweet  dreamy  chimes,  pealing  soft  and  low, 

Telling  that  life  begins  anew, 
Leading  again  through  lush  of  woodland, 

Until  once  more  they  reach  the  ocean  blue. 


INDEX. 


My  America        -        -        -         -        -        --       -        -      £ 

Ideality       --       -       -       -       -'-       -       -         7 

The  Gold  Seekers        -       -----      "-       -      f 

Fat  Jack  and  Slim  Jim        -       -       ^       -       -        -    14 
Warranted  to  Soothe  a  Disciple  of  Blackstone      -      16 
Hereditary  Taste        _-..-_-      is 
Recrimination        -------19 

The  Trend  of  Wealth        -------       20 

California  Dialect -        -      22 

An  Abused  Professional        -  24 

Hankering        - -        -        26 

He  Was  Never  Satisfied        -        -        -        -        -        -  29 

The  Ciphers        --------      31 

Fin  de  Siecle  Matrimony 32 

The  Silurian's  Lament        -----        3J 

Behind  the  Mask        -------     34 

Selfishness        -----...        S5 

Politeness       -.--.--_        -36 

213 


KODAKS. 

One  Thing  Done  Well 37 

A  Celestial  Virtue        ------  39 

Les  Miserables        -        -        -        -        --        -  41 

Honor  and  Dishonor        _        .        .        _        _        _  43 

Biercing        ---_--__  45 

The  Microbe  of  the  Soul        -                  ...  47 

Liar        -____ 49 

Still  an  Enigma        _______  55 

Respect  Poverty— It  Might  Change  57 

An  Old  Story        -         -        -        -        -         _         _  60 

To  Be  a  Sage  Requires  Old  Age        -  62 

They  Never  Change        - 64 

Fancy  Helps  Many  a  Cause  67 

Our  Flag  and  Country  74 

A  Modern  Plague        ______  7g 

Strike  an  Average        ----__  81 

Ko  Ping  Ki  Ti  (Hatchet  Man)  83 

Slim  Jim's  Lament        -        -        -        -        -        -  84 

The  Penalty  of  Old  Age        -----  87 

Pigeon  Holes        ---.___  89 

Nectar  for  Kings        ______  91 

Time  Only  Has  No  End        -        -        -        -         -  95 

Big  Bug        -                                    -        -        -        -  96 

Romance        -----_-_  98 

A  Few  Directions        --_-._  IQQ 

The  Selfis-h  Suns        -         - 101 

Maternal  Love        -        -        -,        -        -        -        -  103 

214 


KODAKS 

J«et  Nobody        -  _  105 

Cute,  but  Troublesome        -  -  10S 

The  Soul ---107 

Life       .-- _  10§. 

Poet  and  Philosopher  ----..  m 
Made  in  God's  Image  -  112 

Misguided  Energy  .--.-_  115 
Past  and  Present  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  118 

Wonderful ---119 

A  Feminine  "Habit  i*  123 

Creation        -_--__       ^       -        _  124 
Just  Life,  That's  All        -        -        -        -    -  -  -        -     125 

Fate  of  the  Soul        -       -       -       -       -       .       -    128 

Hope       -    .   -       -       -       -       -       -    -    - -       -      131 

Cleansing  Fires       --.-_.  138 

To  Whom  It  Ma>'  Concern  135 

Twilight        -        -        -  *    - '      --      -        -        -        Io6 

Ante  Slumber  Soliloquies        -     '  -        -.        .        -    137 
As  Life  Goes         --       .       -       _       .       -        .        .  133 
A  Tramp  Philosopher        -      -  -        -        -        -        139 

Grand  Opera        -  -  141 

An  Ever  Present  Show        -  148 

Life's  Day        -.-..-.-151 

A  Libel -        -        -        153 

A  Vagary  -  -  -  v-  ,  -  _  -  155 
Origin  of  a  Minister  --..,-  157 
A  Back  Number  Dud» 158 


. 


KODAKS. 

Environment        -        -        -        -        -        -        -  16<) 

^Independence  Day        - 162 

If  the  Shoe  Fits,  Wear  it        -----  167 

Daddy's  Home        -        -        -                                 -  170 

Egotism        --------  172 

While  It  Rains       -                174 

Evolution        __------  175 

His  Honor        - 177 

Honesty        - -        -  180 

One  of  Many        -------  181 

Sunset  on  Diablo        ------  182 

A  Double  Shuffle I83 

Autobiography  of  a  Spinning  Wheel        -        -  186 

Historic  Settlers        -------  187 

A  Memory        -        -        -        -'-        -        -        -  188 

•Curiosity        --------  190 

A  Mood        --------  19* 

A  Melody  of  Long  Ago 19* 

Philosophy -198 

Pomposity's  Soliloquy  in  the  Graveyard        -        -  200 

The  Lane  of  Life       -------  202 


216 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  5O  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


JUN  10  1941 


LD  21-100m-7,'40  (6936s; 


YB   13439 


